CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


■ 1)? 

Henry  ^* 


THE   WHITE   hills; 

THEIR  LEGENDS,  LANDSCAPE,  AND  POETRY. 


THE    WHITE    HILLS; 


rHETE  LEGENDS,  LANDSCAPE,  AND  POETRY 


THOMAS    STARR    KING 


VITU    SIXTY     1I,LUSTRAT10.N> 
KNOKAVKII    BV     ANKRKW      KKOM     l)l:A\VI.V(;S    U\     WHKHUK'E 


BOSTON : 

WILLIAM   F.    (iILL   &   COMPANY, 

309  Washington  St.,  opposttk  Old  South  Chcuch. 

187G. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  bv 

Ceosdv,  Nicho.,s,  and  Company, 

ic  i,l»e  Clerk's  Office  of  tlie  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


lirVEESlDE,    CAMBRIDGE  : 

•TfREOTTPED    AND     PRINTED     BI 

R.    0.    HOUaHTON    AND    C0MP\NT. 


Jo 

EDWIN   PERCY   WHIPPLE, 

THIS   BOOK    IS    INSCRIBED   WITH    ADMIRATION    AND   GRATITUD^v. 


PREFACE. 

t  ii 

The  object  of  this  volume  is  to  direct  attention  to  the 
noble  landscapes  that  lie  along  the  routes  by  which  the 
White  Mountains  are  now  approached  by  tourists, — many 
of  which  are  still  iniknown  to  travellers ;  to  help  per- 
sons appreciate  landscape  more  adequately ;  and  to  asso- 
ciate with  the  principal  scenes  poetic  passages  which  illus- 
trate, either  the  permanent  character  of  the  views,  or 
some  peculiar  aspects  in  which  the  author  of  the  book 
has  seen  them. 

Where  so  many  landscapes  are  described  in  detail, 
there  cannot  fail  to  be  sameness  and  repetition.  It  would 
have  been  more  to  the  author's  mind  to  arrange  the  vol- 
ume by  subjects  instead  of  by  districts,  and  to  treat  the 
scenery  under  the  heads  of  rivers,  passes,  ridges,  peaks, 
&c.  But  it  was  found  that  such  a  distribution  and  treat- 
ment, although  it  might  have  given  the  book  more  artis- 
tic unity,  would  have  made  it  less  valuable  on  the  w^hole, 
than  to  construct  it  as  a  guide  to  particular  landscapes, 
and  a  stimulant  to  the  enjoyment  of  them. 


viii  PREFACE. 

If  the  volume  shall  be  found  to  have  any  value  apart 
from  the  illustrations,  it  will,  no  doubt,  be  chiefly  due  to 
the  poetic  quotations  that  are  interwoven  with  the  text. 
Great  care  has  been  used  to  make  them  pertinent  to  the 
particular  scenes  with  which  they  are  brought  into  con- 
nection. The  best  poetry  in  which  mountain  scenery  has 
been  reflected  is  not  fbi\nd  in  separate  lyrics  or  descrip- 
tions, but  is  incidental  to  poems  of  larger  mould  and  pur- 
pose. No  collection  has  been  made  for  mountain  tourists 
such  as  sea-side  visitors  may  command  in  the  admirable 
'^  Thalatta,"  edited  by  Mr.  Higginson.  One  cannot  carry 
a  poetic  library  on  a  journey  among  the  hills.  And  the 
author  believes  that  he  has  done  a  service  to  travellers, 
and  supplied  a  need  that  is  often  confessed,  by  inter- 
weaving with  his  own  inadequate  prose,  passages  from 
Bryant,  Emerson,  Longfellow,  Whittier,  Lowell,  and  Perci- 
val,  that  interpret  the  scenery  of  oiu'  highlands,  and  by 
culling  fragments,  often  equally  applicable,  from  Words- 
worth, Scott,  Tennyson,  Goethe,  Shelle}-,  and  Byron.  The 
aim  has  been  so  to  introduce  the  poetic  selections,  that 
instead  of  being  mere  additions  and  ornaments,  they 
shall  continue  and  complete  the  description  attempted, 
or  embody  the  predominant  sentiment  of  the  landscape. 

The  author  acknowledges  the  important  assistance  in 
many  instances  derived  from  Rev.  Benjamin  Willey's 
'•  Incidents  of  White  Mountain  History ; "  and  all  readers 
will   confess  a  large  indebtedness   to   Professor  Edward 


I'REFACE.  ix 

Tuckerman,  for  the  very  valuable  chapters  he  has  coin- 
mimicated  on  the  exploration  and  botany  of  the  White 
Hills.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  unexpected  bulk 
of  the  volume  has  prevented  the  publication  of  a  li,st 
of  the  plants  of  the  mountain  region,  which  was  to  have 
been  printed  as  an  appendix. 

Boston,  October  20,  1859. 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 


PACKS 

FriK   P'ouu   VALi.f:YS,  (Introductory)    1-33 

Exrr.OKATiox    ok  thk   Wiiiik    Mills.     (Contributed  by   I'rofcs- 

sor  Edward   Tuck kij. man.) 34-46 

Lake   VVinnipiskogkk, 47-80 

The  Pemigewasskt  Valley    and    Fkanconia, 81-134 

The  Saco  Valley   and   Ciiocokua, 135 -18o 

PnE  NoTcir  and    its  Vicinity,    185-21'!) 

The  Vegetation    ok    the   White    Mountains.      (Contributed 

by   Professor   Tuckkuman.) '-'30-241 

The  Androscoggin  Valley, 243  -  29!) 

The    Glen, 299-3ir) 

The  Ascent  ok   Mount  Washington, 317-369 

The    Connecticut   Valley. • 871-403 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


0  V 

WnirE  Mountain  Ra>:ge  from    Milan,  (Frontispiece.)  pagb 

Mounts  Madison  and  Washington,  kkom  Shelburnk, 1 

Mount  Madison  in  Gorham,  near  Lead-Mine  Bridge, 9 

View  from  Walker's  Pond,  Conway, • 13 

MoUNx    KlARSARGE,    FROM    BaUTLETT, 14 

Mount  Crawford,  from  the  Notch, 15 

Franconi A  Mountains,  from  Thornton, 22 

Washington  Range,  from  Carroll, 25 

Washington,  Clay,  and  Jefferson,  from  the  Ridge  of  Adams,  33 

Lake  Winnipiseogee  and  Belknap  Mountains, 53 

Lake  Winnipiseogee,  from    Centre  Hakhor, 64 

Pine-Trees  and  Lake  Shores, 67 

Squam  Lake  and  Mount  Chocorua. 84 

Elm-Trees  in   Plymouth,  N.  IL, 86 

Welch  Mountain,  from  Campton, 94 

Pemigewasset  River  and  Mount  Lafayette, 96 

Meadows  in  Campton, 98 

Profile  Mountain,  Franconi  a  Notch, Ill 

Echo  Lake,  Fk anconi a, 1^^ 

The  Flume,  Franconia, ^  23 

•"teorgiana  Falls,. ^2^' 


xiv  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACl'. 

FUANCONIA    MOUNTAIN!^     FKOM    FlUMIC    HoUSE, 128 

Summit  ok  Chocorua, 143 

North  Conway  and   Mount  Washington, 153 

Farm-House    and   Meadow,  North    Conway, 158 

Meadows  and  Mote  Mountain, 1G5 

Artist's  Fall,  North   Conway, 170 

Giant's   Stairs,  Bartlett, 183 

Gate  of  Crawp^ord  Notch, 191 

Crawford  Notch, 197 

Gate  of  the  Notch  and  Mount  Webster, 203 

Silver  Cascade  in  the  Notch, 206 

Ripley's  Falls,  on   Mount  Willey, 208 

White  Mountain  Range   near  Brabrook's, 213 

Ammonoosuc  Falls, 215 

Giant's    Grave, 221 

Meadows  of  Bethel, 246 

Adams  and  Madison,  near  Randolph   Hill, 253 

Mount  Carter,  from  Gorham, 258 

Mount  Moriah,  in  Gorham, 260 

Moonlight  on  Mount  Carter, 262 

Berlin  Falls, 264 

View  from  Bridge  in  Berlin,  near  Milan, 268 

Madison  and  Washington,  from  Shelburne, 278 

Ledges  of  Mount  Hayes, 291 

Peabody  River  and  IMount  Washington, 301 

White  Mountains,  from  the  Glen, 303 

Tuckerman's  Ravine  and  Mount  Washington, 309 

Crystal    Cascade, 313 

Glen  Ellis  Fall, 315 

Adams  and  Madison,  from  Glp:n  Path. 324 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS.  xv 

I'AGK 

Kavink  in  Mount  Adams,  fjjom  Randolph  Hill, 353 

Head  Wall  of   Adams  Ra vlve, 355 

Gateway  ok  Adams  Ravine, 359 

Cliffs  in  Adams   Ravine, • 360 

Cone  of  Madison  seen  oveu  Adams  Ravine, 362 

View  ACROSS  the   Summit  of  the  Ravine, 365 

Lancaster  and  White  Mountain  Range, 374 

Meadows  of  Lancaster, 375 

Stratford    Peaks, 378 

Castellated  Ridge  of  Mount  Jefferson, 1381 

White  Mountain  Range  from  Jefferson  Hill, 384 


THE    WHITE    HILLS. 


"  The  beii  imn/je  which  tlie  world  can  yive  of  Paradne,  is  in  ihe  slope  of  lite  meadows, 
orcharils,  imd  cornJiMs  on  the  sides  of  a  (jreal  Alp,  ivilh  its  purple  rocks  and  eternal  snows 
al/ore  ;  this  excellence  not  belnt;  in  anywise  a  vwlter  referable  to  feeling,  or  individual  prefer 
ences,  but  demonstrable  by  talm  enumeration  of  the  number  of  lovely  colors  on  the  rocks,  the 
varied  grouping  of  the  trees,  and  quantity  of  noble  im  idents  in  stream,  crag,  or  cloud,  presented 
to  the  eye  at  any  given  moment." 

"  Of  tite  grandeur  or  expression  of  the  hills,  1  have  not  spoken  ;  how  far  they  are  great,  or 
Strong,  or  terrible,  I  do  not  for  the  moment  consider,  because  vastness,  and  strength,  and  terror, 
are  not  to  all  minds  subjects  of  desired  contemplation.  It  may  make  no  difference  to  some  men 
whether  a  natural  object  be  large  or  small,  whether  it  be  strong  or  feeble.  But  loveliness  (f 
color,  peifectness  of  form,  endlessness  of  change,  wondei fulness  of  structure,  are  precious  to  all 
undiseased  human  minds  ;  and  the  superiority  of  the  inountains  in  all  these  things  to  the  lowland 
is,  I  repeat,  as  measurable  as  the  richness  of  a  painted  window  matched  with  a  white  one,  or  the 
Wealth  of  a  museum  compared  with  that  of  a  simply  furnished  chamber.  Tliey  seem  to  have 
been  built  for  the  humai,  r<u  e.  as  at  once  their  schools  and  cathedrals  ;  full  of  ti-easures  of 
illuminated  manusciipt  for  the  scholar,  kindly  in  simple  lessons  to  ihe  ivorker,  quiet  in  pale 
cloisters  for  the  thinker,  glorious  in  holiness  for  the  worshipper.  And  of  these  great  cathedrals 
of  the  earth,  with  their  gates  of  rock,  jtavements  of  cloud,  choirs  of  stream  and  stone,  altats  of 
snow,  and  vaults  of  purple,  traversed  by  the  continual  stars, — of  these,  as  we  have  seen,  it  was 
written,  nor  long  ago,  by  one  of  the  best  of  ihe  poor  human  race  for  whom  they  were  built, 
wondering  in.  himself  for  whom  their  Creator  could  have  made  them,  and  lldnking  to  have 
entirely  'liscerned  the  Divine  intent  in  them — '  They  are  in}iabiied  by  Oie  Beasts.''  " 

RUSKIN. 


INTRODUCTORY   CHAPTER. 


THE    FOUR   VALLEYS. 


Two  groups  of  mountains  are  included  under  the  general  title 
of  "  The  White  Hills," — one,  the  Mount  Washington  chain,  or 
the  Wliite  Mountains  proper, — the  other,  the  Franconia  range, 
of  which  Mount  Lafayette,  a  thousand  feet  lower  than  Mount 
Washington,  is  the  highest  summit.  We  commence  by  call- 
ing attention  to  this  simple  fact,  because  many  persons,  even 
now,  in  spite  of  the  excellent  guide-books,  go  into  New  Hampshire. 


2  THE   WHITE    HILLS. 

With  confused  notions  of  the  topography  of  the  region  ^vhich  attracts 
them,  and  leave  Avith  no  map  in  their  mind's  eye  of  what  they  have 
seen.  We  have  even  seen  maps,  that  were  regularly  sold  in  the 
mountain  hotels,  which  represented  the  Franconia  range  as  a  wes- 
terly continuation  of  the  great  White  Mountain  chain,  and  which 
placed  Montreal  a  little  south  of  Portland.  Once  a  traveller  who  was 
just  entering  the  hill  country,  and  who  seemed  to  be  eager  to  find 
"  The  Notch,"  asked  us  if  it  was  situated  on  the  top  of  Mount 
Washington.  And  one  guide-book,  that,  a  very  few  years  ago,  was 
sold  to  travellers  from  New  York  and  the  South,  described  "  The 
Profile  "  as  only  a  short  walk  from  the  Willey  House  They  are 
about  thirty  miles  apart.  We  advise  all  travellers,  therefore,  to 
study  a  good  map  of  the  mountain  region,  carefully,  before  starting, 
and  to  consult  it  so  faithfully,  between  the  prominent  points  of  their 
journey,  that  the  geography  of  the  country  w^iich  gives  them  pleas- 
ure and  refreshment,  may  not  be  distorted  and  dislocated  in  their 
memory. 

There  are  four  avenues  of  approach  to  the  two  highest  ranges  of 
the  New  Hampshire  mountains, — the  valleys  of  the  Saco,  the  Merri- 
mac,  the  Androscoggin,  and  the  tributaries  of  the  Connecticut. 
Railroads  connect  with  every  one  of  these  natural  paths,  except  the 
Saco.  And  by  each  line  of  railroad  one  may  reach  some  point 
among  the  highest  hills,  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day  that  he 
leaves  Boston,  or  in  about  twenty-four  hours  from  New  York. 

There  is  ample  reward,  as  we  shall  hope  to  show,  in  any  method 
of  approach.     Whichever  path  travellers  may  select,  they 

cannot  err 
In  tills  delicious  region. 

We  shall  devote  a  few  pages  to  a  statement  of  these  routes,  the 
times  they  require,  and  the  general  character  of  the  scenery  to  which 
they  first  introduce  the  traveller. 

And  in  doing  this,  we  are  entirely  independent  of  any  preferences 
for  railway  or  stage  companies,  and  of  any  influence  from  the  rival- 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  3 

ries  of  hotels.  This  book  is  devoted  to  the  scenery  of  the  mountain 
region.  We  intend  to  state  faii-ly  from  what  points  the  noblest  views 
are  to  be  gained,  what  are  the  characteristics  of  each  district,  and 
along  what  routes  the  richest  beauty  lies ;  with  no  thought  in  any 
case  of  the  nearness  to  or  distance  from  any  hotel,  or  stage  line,  or 
railway  station.  It  is  assumed  that  the  public  houses  are  all  good, 
and  that  the  stage  lines  are  equally  w'orthy  of  patronage.  And  we 
take  it  for  granted,  also,  that  travellers  are  moved  to  spend  their 
money  and  time,  not  primarily  to  study  the  gastronomy  of  Coos 
County  in  New  Hampshire,  or  to  criticize  the  comparative  upholstery 
of  the  largest  houses  there  ;  but  to  be  introduced  to  the  richest  feasts 
of  loveliness  and  grandeur  that  are  spread  by  the  Summer  around 
the  valleys,  and  to  be  refreshed  by  the  draperies  of  verdure,  shadow, 
cloud,  and  color,  that  are  hung  by  the  Creator  around  and  above  the 
hills. 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY. 

The  quickest  access  to  the  White  Mountain  range  itself  is  gained 
by  the  valley  of  the  Androscoggin.  This  noble  river  flows  by  the 
extreme  easterly  base  of  that  range,  where  the  forms  are  the  most 
noble  and  imposing.  Within  a  very  few  miles  of  the  foot  of  Mount 
Washington,  it  receives  the  Peabody  River,  which  issues  from  the 
narrow  Pinkham  Pass  between  Mount  Carter  and  the  White  Moun- 
tains. This  stream  is  supplied  in  part  from  the  southeast  slopes  of 
the  highest  mountains  of  the  chain,  and  is  often  swollen  into  a  tre- 
mendous torrent  by  the  storms,  or  the  heavy  and  sudden  showers 
that  drench  their  sides.  It  is  the  Androscoggin  which  has  engi- 
neered for  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway,  that  connects  Portland  and 
Montreal,  the  St.  Lawrence  with  the  Atlantic.  That  Company  are 
indebted  to  it  for  service  in  their  behalf  that  was  patiently  discharged 
centuries  before  Adam. 

Leaving  Boston  in  the  morning  by  the  Boston  and  Maine,  or  the 


4  THE    WHITE   HH.LS. 

Eastern  Railroad,  for  Portland,  and  thence  at  noon,  by  the  Grand 
Trunk  Railway,  travellers  reach  the  Alpine  House  in  Gorham,  N.  II., 
by  the  cars  at  about  five  in  the  afternoon.  They  can  then  proceed 
by  stage,  seven  or  eight  miles  further,  along  the  bank  of  the  Pea- 
body  River,  to  the  large  hotel  in  "  The  Glen,"  a  most  charming 
opening,  where  the  four  highest  elevations  of  the  Mount  Washington 
range  are  in  full  view  from  the  piazza.  If  the  weather  has  been  dry, 
and  the  road  is  hard,  this  distance  can  be  travelled  in  about  an  hour 
and  a  half.  The  road  rises  about  eight  hundred  feet  from  the  rail- 
road in  Gorham.  In  very  muddy  Av.eather  more  than  two  hours  are 
needed  to  reach  "  The  Glen." 

Some  travellers  have  but  a  very  few  days  for  the  whole  tour  of 
the  mountain  region,  and  desire,  in  that  time,  to  see  the  points  of 
interest  that  are  the  most  striking,  and  that  will  produce  the  strongest 
sensation.  These  will  hurry  at  once  by  stage  to  "The  Glen,"  after  their 
day's  ride  in  the  cars,  that  they  may  reach  as  quickly  as  possit)le  the 
very  base  of  Mount  Washington.  'Iheir  object  will  then  be  to  make 
the  ascent  of  it  at  once,  and  hurry  around  to  "  The  Notch,"  Avhich 
is  thirty-six  miles  from  "  The  Glen,"  requiring  nine  or  ten  hours  by 
stage.  Others,  though  they  have  more  time  at  command,  hasten 
from  the  cars  to  "  The  Glen,"  because  they  suppose  that  there  is 
nothing  worth  staying  to  see  in  Gorham. 

But  in  this  they  strangely  mistake.  The  scenery  is  not  very 
attractive  from  the  front  of  the  hotel,  which  was  not  wisely  placed  in 
the  valley  ;  but  no  point  In  the  mountains  offers  views  to  be  gained 
by  walks  of  a  mile  or  two,  and  by  drives  of  five  or  six  miles,  that  ai-e 
more  noble  and  memorable.  In  the  latter  part  of  this  volume  we 
shall  call  attention  in  detail  to  the  attractions  with  which  this  whole 
valley,  including  "  The  Glen,"  is  encompassed.  We  will  simply  say 
here  that,  for  river  scenery  in  connection  with  impressive  mountain 
forms,  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Gorham  surpasses  all  the  other  dis- 
tricts from  which  the  higliest  peaks  are  visible.  The  Androscoggin 
sweeps  through  the  village  with  a  broader  bed,  and  in  larger  volume, 
than  the  Connecticut  shows  at  Lancaster  or  Littleton. 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  5 

Only  an  hour's  ride  from  the  hotel  can-ies  one  to  the  Berlin  Falls, 
where  the  river  pours  its  whole  tide  through  a  narrow  rocky  gateway. 
It  descends  a  hundred  feet  in  the  course  of  a  few  hundi-ed  yards,  and 
then  shoots  its  rapids  directly  towards  the  swelling  hulk  of  Mounts 
Madison  and  Adams  that  tower  but  a  few  miles  distant,  and  form  the 
northeastern  wall  of  the  Mount  Washington  chain.  It  is  very  sel- 
dom that  the  spectacle  is  afforded  of  a  large  river  running  (oivards 
the  highest  mountains  of  the  region  which  it  drains.  And  it  is  still 
more  rare  and  rich  a  piivilege  to  find  such  a  view  combined  with  a 
grand  cataract,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Androscoggin  at  Berlin. 

Less  than  an  hour's  ride  to  a  point  below  the  hotel  in  Gorham, 
discloses  another  view  of  the  river,  where,  broken  by  charming 
islands,  and  winding  through  cultivated  meadows,  it  offers  exquisite 
relief  to  Mount  Washington  and  the  two  next  highest  mountains  of 
the  chain,  which  are  installed  in  a  magnificent  group  above  the 
stream,  but  a  few  miles  off.  No  one  who  sees  this  picture,  at  the 
fitting  hour  of  the  afternoon  and  through  a  favoring  air,  will  be  con- 
tent with  a  single  introduction  to  its  complex  and  symmetrical 
beauty. 

Such  views  are  illustrations  of  the  loss  which  tourists  suffer,  if 
they  have  taste  for  landscape,  by  not  including  a  day  or  two  in  Gor- 
ham, for  the  sake  of  drives  along  the  Androscoggin,  in  their  plans 
of  a  visit  to  the  eastern  side  of  the  great  chain.  The  wildness  and 
majesty  of  the  scenery  in  "  The  Glen  "  we  cannot  be  tempted  to 
disparage.  Certamly  the  impression  which  the  hills  make  upon  the 
senses  here  is  singularly  grand.  The  spot  is  a  little  plateau,  rising 
from  the  banks  of  the  Peabody  stream,  and  guarded  on  the  south- 
east by  the  steep,  thin,  heavily-wooded  wall  of  Mount  Carter,  and  on 
the  northwest  by  the  curving  bulwarks  of  the  great  ridge,  over 
which  spring  the  rocky  domes  or  spires  of  Waslungton,  Clay,  Jeffer- 
son, Adams,  and  Madison.  The  comparative  impressiveness  of  the 
view  cannot  easily  be  overestimated. 

But  it  is  not  landscape  beauty  that  is  given  m  "  The  Glen."  To 
have  that,  there  must  be  meadow,  river,  and  gi-eater  distance  from 

4 


6  THE    WHITK    HILLS. 

the  liills,  so  that  they  can  be  seen  through  large  intervening  depths 
of  air.  Going  close  to  a  great  mountain  is  like  going  close  to  a 
powerfully  painted  picture  ;  you  see  only  the  roughnesses,  the 
blotches  of  paint,  the  coarsely  contrasted  hues,  which  at  the  proper 
distance  alone  are  grouped  into  grandeur  and  mellowed  into  beauty. 

'Tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view, 
And  robes  the  mountain  in  its  azure  hue. 

Even  the  height  of  a  great  mountain  is  not  usually  appreciated  by 
looking  up  from  its  base.  If  it  rose  in  one  wall,  and  tapered  regu- 
larly with  a  smooth  surface,  like  a  pyramid,  or  Bunker  Hill  monu- 
ment, the  expectations  of  many  persons  who  rush  to  the  foot  of 
Mount  Washington,  and  suppose  that  they  are  to  receive  an  over- 
powering ocular  impression  of  a  mile  of  vertical  height,  would  be 
satisfied.  But  a  great  mountain  is  protected  by  outworks  and  braced 
by  spurs ;  its  dome  retreats  modestly  by  plateaus  ;  and  it  is  only  at 
a  distance  of  some  miles  that  the  effect  of  foreshortening  is  corrected, 
and  it  stands  out  in  full  royalty.  And  from  such  a  point  of  view 
alone,  by  the  added  effect  of  atmosphere  and  shadows,  is  its  real 
sublimity  discerned.  The  majesty  of  a  mountain  is  determined  by 
the  outlines  of  its  bulk  ;  its  expression  depends  on  the  distance, 
and  the  states  of  the  air  through  which  it  is  seen. 

A  visit  to  New  Hampshire  supplies  the  most  resources  lo  a  trav- 
eller, and  confers  the  most  benefit  on  the  mind  and  taste,  Avhen  it 
lifts  him  above  mere  appetite  for  wildness,  ruggedness,  and  the  feel- 
ing of  mass  and  precipitous  elevation,  into  a  perception  and  love  of 
the  refined  grandeur,  the  chaste  subhmity,  the  airy  majesty  overlaid 
with  tender  and  polished  bloom,  in  which  the  landscape  splendor  of  a 
noble  mountain  lies.  The  White  Mountain  region  is  singularly  rich 
in  the  varieties  of  landscape  charm  which  the  hills  assume.  The 
ridges  are  so  well  broken  by  cones  and  peaks,  the  slopes  are  so 
diversified,  and  the  valleys  wind  at  such  various  angles,  that  a  month 
is  insufficient  to  exhaust  the  treasures  of  ever  changing  beauty  which 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.        .  7 

they  hold.  This  is  true  even  for  the  tourist  who  goes  to  study  and  enjoy 
Nature  with  his  eye  alone,  and  with  no  intention  or  capacity  to  use  a 
pencil.  Sometimes  a  distance  of  ten  miles  produces  a  change  in  the 
aspects  of  one  ridge,  as  marked  as  if  we  had  passed  to  a  different 
zone.  Certainly  North  Conway  and  Gorham,  Bethlehem  and  Bart- 
lett,  Jefferson  and  Shelburne,  Berlin  and  Jackson,  could  not  at  first 
be  suspected  of  being  set  within  about  equal  distance  of  the  same 
chain  of  hills. 

We  should  see,  then,  that  by  driving  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the 
very  bases  of  the  mountains,  and  by  the  general  eagerness  to  get  the 
coarser  stimulant  of  their  wildness,  travellers  lose  the  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  deeper  landscape  loveliness  which  the  mountains  wear,  and 
of  cultivating  the  sense  to  which  it  is  revealed.  After  the  first  visit, 
at  any  rate,  this  should  be  the  chief  purpose  and  aim. 

And  by  living  several  weeks  in  any  valley,  and  driving  frequently 
over  the  principal  roads,  a  person  is  able  to  learn,  not  only  just  where 
the  best  pictures  are  to  be  seen,  but  also  what  a  great  difference  is 
made  in  the  effect  of  a  landscape  by  a  very  slight  change  of  position 
on  the  road.  A  spy-glass  is  good  for  nothing,  as  a  help  to  the  sight, 
unless  you  get  the  exact  focus.  It  is  quite  remarkable  how  this  law 
of  focus-points  holds  in  studying  the  mountain  region.  Sometimes 
the  beauty  of  scenes  depends  on  the  hour  Avhen  you  visit  them,  some- 
times on  the  nicely  calculated  distance.  We  have  stayed  within  a  few 
miles  of  a  mountain  wall,  upon  which  the  forenoon  spectacle  in  clear 
weather  was  worth  riding  every  day  to  see.  But  in  the  afternoon, 
the  westerly  light  made  the  forests  look  rusty  ;  roughened  the  slopes 
of  the  ridge  ;  reduced  the  height  of  the  massive  bastions,  and  chased 
away  their  dusky  frown.  Some  hills  need  rain,  or  a  thick  air,  to  tone 
down  the  raggedncss  of  their  foreground,  and  reveal  the  beauty  of 
their  lines.  Others  show  best  under  the  noon-light ;  others  demand 
the  sunset  glow.  A  prominent  charm  of  North  Conway  is,  that  it  ia 
one  of  the  proper  focal  points  for  Mount  Washington.  Bethlehem 
Village  is  another.  And  the  same  distinction  must  be  awarded  to 
portions  of  the  Androscoggin  valley  near  Gorham,  in  relation  to 
Mount  Adams  and  Mount  Madison. 

4* 


8  niE    AVIIITE   HILLS. 

Is  it  not  one  of  the  rich  rewards  of  a  long  visit  in  any  valley,  to  be 
able  to  drive  directly  to  the  seats  which  Nature  has  fixed  along  her 
picture-gallery,  for  studying  leisurely,  to  the  best  advantage,  her 
masterpieces  of  drawing,  her  most  fascinating  combinations  of  sub- 
limity and  loveliness,  and  the  most  mystic  touches  of  her  pencils  of 
light,  that  edge  the  "  mountain  gloom  "  with  "  mountain  glory  ?  " 
Travellers  in  New  Hampshire  do  not  think  enough  of  the  simple  fact 
that  every  triumph  of  a  human  artist  is  only  an  illusion,  producing 
a  semblance  of  a  real  charm  of  air  or  foliage,  of  sunset  cloud,  or  dewy 
grass,  or  mountain  splendor,  which  Nature  oifers.  If  a  man  could 
own  all  the  landscape  canvas  which  the  first  painters  of  the  world 
have  colored,  it  Avould  not  be  a  tithe  so  rich  an  endowment,  as  if 
Providence  should  quicken  his  eye  with  keener  sensibility  to  the  hues 
of  the  west  at  evening,  the  grace  of  trees,  and  the  pomp  of  piled  or 
drifting  clouds. 

We  have  called  attention  to  this  law  of  focal  distance  in  connec- 
tion with  the  Androscoggin  valley,  and  to  the  privilege  which  belongs 
to  Gorham  among  other  places  near  the  White  Hills  that  rightfully 
claim  our  interest,  because  it  is  less  known,  thus  far,  than  any  other 
point  of  so  easy  access.  And  let  any  traveller  Avho  stays  in  Gorham 
before  going  to  "  The  Glen,"  and  who  is  disposed  to  test  this  law  in 
the  most  satisfactory  and  decisive  way,  drive  in  an  open  Avagon  from 
the  Alpine  House  down  the  river  towards  Shelburne.  He  will  find, 
on  the  return  drive,  that  a  perfectly  finished  picture  is  shown  from  a 
small  hill,  about  four  miles  from  the  hotel,  just  at  the  turn  of  the 
road  that  leads  to  "  The  Lead-mine  Bridge."  Mount  ]Madison  sits 
on  a  plateau  over  the  Androscoggin  meadows.  No  intervening 
ridges  hide  his  pyramid,  or  break  the  keen  lines  of  his  sides.  He 
towers  clear,  symmetrical,  and  proud,  against  the  vivid  blue  of  the 
western  sky.  And  as  if  the  bright  foreground  of  the  meadows 
golden  in  the  afternoon  light,  and  the  velvety  softness  of  the  vague 
blue  shadows  that  dim  the  desolation  of  the  mountain,  and  the  hues 
that  flame  on  the  peaks  of  its  lower  ridges,  and  the  vigor  of  its 
sweep   upwards    to    a  sharp   crest,   are   not   enough  to    perfect  the 


THE    FOUR    VALLEYS.  () 

artistic  finish  of  the  picture,  a  frame  is  gracefully  carved  out  of  two 
nearer  hills,  to  seclude  it  from  any  neighboring  roughness  around 
the  Peabody  valley,  and  to  narrow  into  the  most  shapely  proportions 
the  plateau  from  which  it  soars.     It  is  not  probable   that  the  tourist 


will  find  any  other  point  in  the  region,  where  one  of  the  White  Moun- 
tains is  singled  out  from  the  rest  and  drawn  so  firmly  in  isolated 
grandeur.  And  yet  he  will  find  that  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  either  way, 
from  the  insignificant  hill  on  which  his  wagon  rests,  spoils  the  charm 
of  the  picture  by  breaking  the  frame,  or  cutting  away  the  base,  or 
shutting  out  some  portion  of  the  meadow  foreground,  or  extinguishing 
the  flashes  of  the  silvery  river. 

This  view,  during  the  long  midsummer  days,  can  be  enjoyed  after 


10  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

tea,  and  hi; tore  sunset,  when  the  hght  is  most  propitious,  on  the  same 
day  that  the  traveller  leaves  Boston.  A  drive  of  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  from  the  Alpine  House  in  Gorham,  on  the  Shelburne  road, 
is  the  only  exertion  it  costs.  Or,  the  same  time  devoted  to  a  wagon 
ride  towards  Berlin,  or  towards  Randolph,  will  bring  out  other  moun- 
tains of  the  range,  framed  off'  in  similar  ways  from  the  chain,  in 
majesty  equally  impressive  ;  though  no  other  view,  perhaps,  combines 
so  many  elements  of  a  fascinating  mountain-landscape. 


THE   SACO    VALLEY. 

By  the  Saco  valley  the  tourist  is  led  to  the  extreme  icesterly  base- 
of  the  Mount  Washmgton  range,  as  by  the  Androscoggin  valley  he 
reaches,  at  once,  the  extreme  easterly  declivities.  The  nearest  point 
to  the  Saco  route  accessible  by  railroad  is  the  shore  of  Lake  Winni- 
piseogee.  The  borders  of  this  charming  sheet  of  water  may  be 
reached  in  about  five  hours.  One  can  go  by  the  Boston  and  Maine 
railroad,  connecting  with  the  Cocheco  railroad  at  Dover,  ^vhich  ends 
at  Alton  Bay,  or  by  the  Boston,  Concord,  and  Montreal  road,  wliich 
has  a  station  on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  at  Weir's.  By  the  Alton  Bay 
route,  the  steamer  traverses  the  length  of  the  lake  thirty  miles  to 
Centre  Harbor  ;  from  Weir's,  the  steamer's  track  is  across  the  lake 
diagonally  to  Centre  Harbor,  and  is  twelve  miles.  We  shall  devote 
a  separate  chapter  to  the  scenery  of  Lake  Winnipiseogee,  and  of  its 
immediate  neighborhood,  and  therefore  will  not  detain  the  reader 
here  with  any  prelude  about  its  attractions. 

From  Centre  Harbor,  the  distance  to  the  base  of  the  White  Moun- 
tain range  at  the  Crawford  House,  Avhich  is  situated  just  beyond  the 
further  gateway  of  "  The  Notch,"  is  sixty-two  miles.  It  is  travelled 
wholly  by  stage.  Until  within  a  very  few  years,  this  was  the  only 
route  by  which  the  heart  of  the  hill-country  in  New  Hanqishire 
could   be  reached.     And  we  question  if  now,  when  the  cars  carry 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  H 

visitors  so  much  more  speedily  to  villages  much  nearer  the  two  great 
ranges,  so  much  pleasure  and  profit  are  gained  from  the  journey,  as 
when  the  approach  was  gradually  made  along  the  line  of  the  Sand- 
wich range  to  the  Saco  at  Conway  ;  and  when  every  traveller  went 
away  with  delightful  recollections  of  the  ride  through  Bartlett,  up 
the  narrowing  and  darkening  valley,  which  gradually  prepares  the 
eye  and  mind  for  the  desolation  and  the  gloom  of  "  The  Notch," 
through  which  the  Saco,  as  a  mere  rivulet,  hurries  towards  the 
meadows  below. 

The  journey  from  Centre  Harbor  to  "  The  Notch  "  is  naturally 
divided  by  Conway,  where  there  is  a  large  and  excellent  hotel. 
Leaving  Boston  in  the  morning,  crossing  Lake  Winnipiseogee  and 
stopping  only  to  dine  at  Centre  Harbor,  Conway  is  the  nearest  point 
to  the  Mount  Washington  range  that  can  be  reached  by  regular  stage 
the  same  night.  This  is  still  thirty-two  miles  from  the  Crawford 
House  and  ''  The  Notch."  If  the  roads  are  in  tolerable  condition, 
and  the  afternoon  is  not  excessively  hot,  the  passengers,  who  make 
thus  their  first  excursion  to  the  Hills,  will  not  only  be  interested  in 
the  varied  forms  of  the  Sandwich  range,  but  will  have  a  glorious 
view,  in  the  evening  light,  from  the  top  of  Eaton  Hill,  before  entering 
Conway,  of 

tlie  mountains  piled 
Heavily  against  the  horizon  of  the  north, 
Like  summer  thunder-clouds. 

They  might  be  mistaken  for  clouds,  until  one  sees  that  their  form  is 
permanent,  and  that  their  edges,  firmly  drawn  and  not  fleecy  as 
cloud-shapes  are,  show  a  delicate  gleam  of  thoroughly  tempered 
steel  against  the  evening  sky.  What  refreshment  for  the  fatigues  of 
the  journey,  and  what  glorious  promise  for  the  morrow,  in  those  cool, 
dark  toAvers  and  domes  that  swell  along  the  northwest,  and  on  whose 
heights  no  tropic-breath  is  ever  blown  ! 

Conway  is  too  generally  considered  now  a  mere  resting-place  for* 
the  night.     Many  persons,  if  they  should  fail  to  rise  early  enough 
for  the  morning  stage  to  "  The  Notch,"  would  hardly  know  Avhat  to 


12  THE    WIUTE    HILLS. 

do  with  a  clay  thus  left  unem[)lojed  upon  their  hands.  And  yet,  if 
they  have  any  taste  for  landscape,  they  might  take  excursions  by 
wagon  from  the  hotel,  that  would  make  them  grateful  for  the  inter- 
ruption of  their  journey.  Let  them  di-ive,  for  instance,  some  nine 
miles  to  Chocorua  Lake,  in  which  the  rugged,  torn,  lonely,  and 
proud-peaked  mountain  reflects  the  ravage  of  its  slopes  and  the  vigor 
of  its  lines, — and,  when  a  week  is  over,  let  them  say  if  they  would  will- 
ingly drop  this  picture  from  the  portfolio  of  their  memory.  Many 
of  the  most  competent  artists,  who  have  made  faithful  studies  during 
summer  vacations  in  New  Hampshire,  award  superiority  to  Choco- 
rua for  picturesqueness  over  any  view  that  they  have  found  of  Mount 
Washington. 

After  this  view  is  taken,  (or  instead  of  it,  if  there  is  time  only  for 
one,)  let  an  excursion  be  made  to  Gould's  Pond,  about  equally  dis- 
tant in  another  direction.  Chocorua  and  the  Mote  Mountain  will 
form  many  charming  associations,  during  the  winding  di'ive,  until 
Potter's  Farm  is  reached.  Here  is  a  combination  of  lake  and 
mountain  scenery  different  from  anything  to  be  found  between  Centre 
Harbor  and  "  The  Notch."  Fortunate  will  the  tourist  be,  Avho  can 
find  any  other  view,  along  this  whole  favorite  avenue  to  the  moun- 
tains, that  he  can  call  more  fascinating.  The  lake  is  a  fine  broad 
expanse  of  water,  with  many  islands.  The  Rattlesnake  range,  one 
of  the  guardian  walls  of  North  Conway,  stretches  off  to  the  right, 
overtopped  by  the  feminine  beauty  of  the  slopes  of  Kiarsarge.  To 
the  left  are  "  The  Ledges  "  and  the  neighboring  heights.  A  little 
below  these,  and  on  nearly  the  same  line,  rise  the  Mote  and  Choco- 
rua, towering  over  intervening  hills.  And  in  the  centre,  the  White 
Mountains,  back  of  all,  heave  their  bulk  crowned  by  the  dome  of 
Mount  Washington.  Any  grand  landscapc-vieAv  of  the  highest  range, 
with  a  lake  or  a  wide  river  prospect  in  tlie  foreground,  is  so  rare, 
that  special  attention  should  be  called  to  each  of  them  in  any  guide- 
'book.  Yet  not  one  in  a  thousand  of  the  summer  visitors  to  New 
Hampshire  has  ever  seen  either  of  these  views,  so  easily  accessible 
from  Conway.     Not  one  in  a  thousand,  probably,  has  ever  heard  of 


THE   FOUR    VALLEYS. 


ly 


the  scene  which  we  last  described.  Nature  cunningly  hides  the 
gems  of  her  landscape  a  little  away  from  tlie  noisy  and  dusty  paths, 
and  imposes  the  condition  of  leisure,  calmness  of  mind,  and  rever- 
ent seeking,  before  they  shall  be  enjoyed. 


From  Conway  to  "  The  Notch  "  the  distance  is  thlrty-tAvo  miles, 
and  is  travelled  by  stage  in  half  a  day  ;  so  that  from  Boston  to  the 
Crawford  House,  at  the  foot  of  the  White  Mountain  range,  resting  in 
Conway  only,  requires,  by  the  Saco  route,  a  day  and  a  half.  The 
whole  ride  up  from  the  hotel  in  Conway,  if  the  day  is  clear,  is  a  con- 
tinuous delight  to  one  who  has  an  outside  seat  on  the  stage.  By  the 
meadows  of  North  Conway,  and  in  full  view  of  the  White  Mountain 
battlements  that  frown  upon   that   village   from   the   north  ;  by  the 


14 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


charming  Kiarsarge,  which,  long  after  it  is  passed,  draws  the  eye  to 
look  back  upon  it,  still  hungry  for  the  exquisite  droop  of  its  folds,  as 
of  drapery  falling  from  a  ring  ;  through  the  Bartlett  village,  which  is 
only  a  long  winding  lane  among  steep  hills,  cool  with  thick  and  dark 


t' J'l^'^^osig^s::^:  - 


green  verdure  ;  into,  and  soon  out  of,  the  little  mountain  basin  over 
which  the  clumsy  crest  of  Mount  Crawford  peers — a  perpetual  monu- 
ment to  the  old  patriarch  of  the  district,  Avho  kept,  for  years,  a  small 
inn  for  travellers  in  this  secluded  bowl,  and  drove  a  team,  four  in 
hand,  to  the  Crawford  House,  when  he  was  over  eighty  ;  and  six 
miles  further  on,  until  two  mountain  lines  shoot  across  each  other, 
and,  by  a  sudden  turn  of  the  road,  open,  and  allow  us  to  ride  into 
the  pass,  Avhere 

the  abnip'.  momit:iin  breaks, 
And  seems  with  its  accumulated  crags 
To  overhang  the  world; — 

thus  we  are  swept  on,  and  find  that  no  two  miles  of  the  ride  are 
rnonotonous,  and  that  each  hour  introduces  us  to  scenery  of  fresb 


THE   FOUR   ^JXlJ.EYS. 


15 


character  and  charm.  After  the  Crawford  House  is  reached  through 
the  upper  gateway  of  "  The  Notch,"  where  there  is  just  room,  under 
the  decaying  crags  that  face  each  other,  for  the  Httle  mill-stream  of 
the  Saco  and  the  road ;  after  Mount  Willard  has  been  ascended,  and 


Washington  scaled,  and  the  whole  mountain  visit  is  finished,  we  may 
remember  our  first  slight  of  "  The  Notch,"  and  the  subsequent  expe- 
rience, in  the  lan":ua2;e  of  Whittier  : — 

We  lirtd  checked  our  steeds 
Silent  with  wonder,  where  tlie  mountain  wall 
Is  piled  to  heaven;  and  through  tlie  narrow  rift 
Of  the  vast  rocks,  against  whose  rugged  feet 
Beats  the  mad  torrent  with  perpetual  roar, 
Where  noonday  is  as  twilight,  and  the  wind 
Comes  burdened  with  the  everlasting  moan 
Of  forests  and  of  far-off  waterfalls. 
We  had  looked  upward  where  the  summer  sky 
Tasselled  with  clouds,  light-woven  by  the  sun. 


-J- 


16  THE    WHITE   HH.Lb. 

Sprung  its  blue  arch  above  the  abutting  ciaj^, 

O'er-ro(jfing  the  vast  portal  of  the  land 

Beyond  the  wall  of  mountains.     We  had  passed 

The  high  source  of  the  Saco;    and,  bewildered 

In  the  dwarf  spruce-belts  of  the  Crystal  Hills, 

Had  heard  above  us,  like  a  voice  in  the  cloud, 

'I'lie  horn  of  Fabyaii  sounding;  ami  atup 

Of  old  Agioochook  had  seen  the  mountains 

Piled  to  the  northward,  shagged   with   wood,  and   thick 

As  meadow-moleliills — the  far  sea  of  Casco 

A  white  gleam  on  the  horizun  of  the  east; 

Fair  lakes,  embosomed  in  the  woods  and  hills; 

Moosehillock's  mountain  range,  and   Kiarsarge 

Lifting  his  Titan  forelioad  to  the  sun. 

All  as  true  as  it  is  vivid,  except  the  "  Titan  forehead"  of  Kiarsarge. 
No  summit  so  little  deserves  that  title.  Queenly  forehead  would  be 
uiore  ap})ropriate. 

But  we  have  skipped  North  Conway,  of  which  the  graceful  moun- 
tain just  spoken  of  is  only  one  of  the  gems,  in  our  notice  of  the  ride 
from  Centi'e  Harbor  to  "  The  Notch."  It  is  not  because  we  have 
overlooked  it,  but  because  we  reserve  a  separate  chapter  for  it,  far- 
ther on.  This  village,  five  miles  above  Conway  Centre,  and  twenty- 
five  miles  from  "  The  Notch,"  is  not  to  be  considered,  or  alluded  to, 
as  one  point  on  the  route,  to  be  merely  driven  through.  It  is  a  place 
to  stay  in,  Avhere  the  mountains  are  to  be  studied,  Avhere  the  mind  is 
to  rest  as  m  a  natural  art-gallery,  and  in  an  atmosphere  saturated 
with  beauty. 

From  the  heart  of  Waumbek  Methna,  from  tlie  lake  that  never  fails, 
Falls  the  Saco  in  the  green  lap  of  Conway's  intervales; 
There,  in  wild  and  virgin  freshness,  its  waters  foam  and  flow. 
As  when   Darby  Field  first  saw  them,  two  hundred  years  ago. 

I'ut,  vexed  in  all  iis  seaward  course  with  bridge^,  dams,  and  mills. 
How  changed  is  Saco's  stream,  how  lost  its  freedom  of  tiie  hills. 
Since  travelled  Jocelyn,  factor  Vines,  and  stately  Champernoon 
Heard  on  its  banks  the  gray  wolf's  howl,  the  trumpet  of  the  loon! 

With  smoking  axle  hot  with  speed,  with  steeds  of  fire  and  steam. 
Wide-waked    To-day  leaves   Yesterday  behind  him  like  a  dream, 
Still,  from  the  huirying  train  of  Life,  fly  backward  far  and  fast 
The  mile-stones  ol  the  fathers,  the  Ift.idmarks  of  the  past 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  17 

The  steeds  of  fii-e  and  steam  do  not  vex  the  air  of  North  Con\va)r 
even  with  any  echoes  as  yet ;  and  it  is  not  till  it  passes  beyond  the 
meadoAvs  which  lie  under  "  The  Ledges  "  and  "  The  Mote,"  that  the 
Saco  is  ''  vexed  "  with  "  dams  and  mills."  As  to  "  bridges,"  the 
Bartlett  farmers  can  testify  that  the  Saco  vexes  them^  in  every  time 
Df  freshet,  more  than  it  is  troubled  by  their  piers. 

North  Conway  has  been .  the  favorite  resort  among  the  mountains 
for  artists.  And  after  the  first  of  July,  its  hotels  and  private  houses 
are  often  crowded  with  visitors  who  desire  to  spend  several  days  at 
least,  if  not  several  weeks,  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  mountain  scenery. 
Why  is  it  that  so  few  persons  make  provision,  in  the  programme  of 
their  tour  for  waiting  two  or  three  days  in  one  spot,  and  for  taking 
the  short  jaunts,  in  their  own  hired  wagon,  to  the  rarer  and  secluded 
landscapes  in  which  the  glories  of  the  mountain  districts  are  codt 
centrated  ?  Such  is  the  true  way  to  get  adequate  and  lasting 
impressions  of  the  character  of  the  hill  country.  People,  in  the 
majority  of  instances,  reach  Conway  Centre  the  same  -day  that  they 
left  Boston  and  caught  their  first  view  of  Wjnnipiseogee.  They 
hurry  through  North  Conway  to  "The  Notch,"  whether  it  rains  or 
shines,  the  day  after.  They  ascend  Mount  Washington  the  third 
day ;  and,  on  the  fourth,  are  driven  to  Franconia  for  an  equally 
rapid  glimpse  of  its  treasures  ;  or,  perhaps  not  waiting  for  that,  push 
on  to  Littleton  for  the  Connecticut  valley  cars.  A  large  proportion 
of  the  summer  travellers  in  New  Hampshire  bolt  the  scenery,  as  a 
man,  driven  by  work,  bolts  his  dinner  at  a  restaurant.  Sometimes, 
mdeed,  where  railroads  will  allow,  as  on  the  eastern  side,  they  will 
gobble  some  of  the  superb  views  between  two  trains,  with  as  little 
consciousness  of  any  flavor  or  artistic  relish,  as  a  turkey  has  in  swal- 
lowing corn.  One  might  as  well  be  a  railroad  conductor  for  a  week 
on  an  up-country  train,  so  far  as  any  effect  on  mind  or  sentiment  is 
concerned,  Or  any  real  acquaintance  with  Nature  is  gained,  as  t-o 
take  to  what  we  Yankees  call  "  pleasurin',"  in  such  style. 

Where  persons  do  not  have  a  margin  of  a  few  days,  they  may  lose 
the  whole  object  of  their  journey.     It  sometimes  happens  that  not 


18  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

moi'e  than  a  few  perfect  hours  for  sight-seeing  are  drawn  out  of  the 
week.  Daj  after  day  may  turn  up  a  blank.  Perhaps  there  is  rain ; 
or  vapors  aro  heavily  folded  over  the  great  ridges  ;  or  there  is  incea- 
Bant  sunshine,  without  any  clouds  to  give  relief  to  th3  eyes  and  ex- 
pression to  the  hills  ;  or  a  slaty  and  chilly  sky  spreads  a  mournful 
monotony  over  scenes  that  you  want  to  see  transfigured  .by  the 

Mysteries  of  color  daily  laid, 
Bv  the  sun  in  light  and  shade. 

And  then  a  week  may  be  given,  in  which,  to  those  Avho  can  stay  in  a 
place  like  North  Conway  or  Gorham,  every  day  will  be  a  prize. 
South  wind,  north  wind,  and  west  wind  will  come  by  turns,  and  do 
their  best. 

It  may  blow  north,  it  still  is  warm; 

Or  south,  it  still  is  clear; 
Or  east,  it  smells  like  a  clover  farm ; 

Or  west,  no  thunder  fear. 

Varying  with  each  hour  the  favored  visitors  will  have  the  full  range 
of  summer  views,  the  anthology  of  a  season's  art,  gathered  into  a 
portion  of  a  single  week.  The  mountains  seem  to  overhaul  their 
meteorological  wardrobe.  They  will  array  themselves,  by  rapid 
turns,  in  their  violets  and  purples  and  mode  colors,  their  cloaks  of 
azure  and  caps  of  gold,  their  laces  and  velvets,  and  their  iris-scarfs. 

One  day  it  will  be  so  clear,  that,  for  the  eye,  space  seems  to  have 
been  half  annihilated.  Every  sharp  ridge  lies  in  the  sky  like  the 
curving  blade  of  an  adze,  and  the  pinnacles  tower  sharp  as  spears. 
Then  the  few  shadows  that  spot  the  slopes  seem  engraved  upon  them. 
Such  is  the  day  for  proof-impressions  of  the  roughness  and  ragged- 
ness,  the  cuts  and  scars,  the  ravines  and  spurs,  the  boundary  lines 
of  shrubbery  and  rock,  that  make  up  the  surface  of  the  mountams. 
In  an  air  like  this,  from  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  tlie  vessels  in 
Portland  harbor  Avill  be  distinctly  descried  by  the  glass. 

Then  will  come  a  day  sacred  to  great  clouds.  How  majestically 
they  will  sail  through  the  azure,  perplexing  the  eye  with  their  double 


THE   FOUR  VALLEYS.  19 

beauty, — the  blazing  fleece  which  moves  and  melts  in  the  upper  blue, 
and  the  fantastic  photographs  which  they  leave  upon  the  hills  below, 
often  draping  a  mountain  like  Madison  or  Kiarsarge  in  a  leopard-skin 
of  spotted  hght  and  gloom  ! 

They  rear  their  sunny  copes 
Like  lieavenly  Alps,  with  cities  on  their  slopes, 
Built  amid  glaciers — bristling  fierce  with  towers, 
Turrets,  and  battlements  of  warlike  powers — 
Jagged  with  priestly  pinnacles  and  spires — 
And  crowned  with  domes,  that  glitter  in  the  fires 
Of  the  slant  sun,  like  smithied  silver  bright; — 
The  capitals  of  Cloudland. 

Or  perhaps  the  south  wind  fills  the  air  with  dusty  gold,  and  makes 
each  segment  of  a  district  that  was  prosaic  enough  a  week  before, 
seem  a  sweet  fraction  of  Italy.  Possibly,  it  tries  its  hand  at  mists. 
Then  what  mischief  and  frohc  !  It  brindles  the  mountain  sides  with 
them.  Or  it  stretches  them  across  their  length,  as  though  it  meant 
to  weave  all  the  vapors  which  the  air  could  supply,  into  a  narrow  and 
interminable  web  of  fog.  Now,  again,  it  twines  the  mists  around 
their  necks  ;  then  it  smothers  the  peaks  with  them,  and  soon  tears 
them  apart  to  let  the  grim  heads  look  out ;  and  before  long,  in  more 
serious  mood,  it  bids  them  stream  up  and  off",  like  incense  from  mighty 
altars.  Sometimes,  for  half  a  day  it  will  revel  in  a  rollicking  temper, 
and  will  wind  a  rufl"  around  the  neck  of  solemn  Chocorua ;  or  it  will 
adorn  the  crown  of  Kiarsarge  with  a  trailing  veil  of  vapory  Mechlin  ; 
or  it  will  compel  the  bald  head  of  Adams,  much  to  the  improvement 
of  his  phrenology,  to  sport  a  towering  peruke,  with  a  queue  a  few 
miles  long  streaming  upon  the  breeze.  And  then  there  will  be  sun- 
sets and  dawns,  each  of  which  would  amply  repay  for  the  journey. 

The  difficulty  is,  that  in  rushing  so  fast  as  many  of  us  do  through 
the  mountains,  the  mountains  do  not  have  time  to  come  to  us.  These 
old  settlers  are  tardy  in  forming  intimate  acquaintanceships.  With 
them  "  confidence  is  a  plant  of  slow  growth."  Their  externals  they 
give  to  the  eye  in  a  moment,  on  a  clear  day  ;  but  their  character. 


20  THE   WHITE    HILLS. 

their  aspects  of  superior  majesty,  their  fleeting  loveUness  of  hue, — all 
that  makes  them  a  refreshment,  a  force,  a  joj  of  the  rest  of  our  year, 
they  show  only  to  the  calmer  eye,  to  the  man  who  waits  a  day  or 
two  in  order  to  unthink  his  city  habits,  domesticate  himself  as  their 
guest,  and  bide  their  time.  If  we  could  learn,  or  be  content,  to  use 
a  week  at  some  central  point  of  any  valley,  instead  of  hurrying 
through  all  of  them, — to  spend  the  same  money  at  one  spot  that  is 
usually  spread  over  the  lengthened  journey, — to  take  the  proper  times 
for  driving  quietly  to  the  best  positions, — we  should  see  vastly  more, 
as  any  of  the  intelligent  visitors  in  North  Conway  will  assure  us. 
We  should  understand  not  only  topography,  but  scenery.  We 
should  not  carry  away  jumbled  recollections  hke  dissolving  views,  but 
clear  pictures  in  memory.  The  mountains  would  come  to  us,  which, 
it  is  said,  they  refused  to  do  for  the  author  of  the  Koran. 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY. 

The  Pemigewasset  is  the  main  source  of  the  Merrimack.  It  opens 
the  natural  avenue  to  the  Franconia  range,  which  is  easily  reached 
from  Boston  in  a  day.  By  the  Boston,  Concord,  and  Montreal  Rail- 
road, taking  trains  which  connect  with  that  road  either  from  the  sta- 
tion of  the  Boston  and  Maine  or  the  Boston  and  Lowell  railways,  the 
traveller  reaches  Plymouth,  N.  H.,  which  is  about  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  from  Boston,' a  little  after  noon.  Having  dined  in  Plym- 
outh, he  takes  the  stage  for  either  of  the  two  excellent  public-houses 
in  the  Franconia  Notch — the  Flume  House,  which  is  twenty-five 
miles  distant,  or  the  Profile  House,  which  is  five  miles  further. 
Either  of  these  houses  will  be  reached  before  sunset,  and  the  tourist 
will  have  the  benefit  of  the  afternoon  light,  while  he 

tracks 
The  winding  Pemigewasset,  overhung 
By  beechen  shadows,  whitening  down  its  rocka 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  21 

Or  lazily  gliding  through  its  intervals, 

From  waving  rye-fields  sending  up  the  gleam 

Of  sunlit  waters. 

The  whole  ride,  if  the  day  is  pleasant,  will  afford  various  and  per- 
petual delight.  The  valley,  for  most  of  the  way,  is  broader  than 
that  of  the  Saco  above  North  Conway,  and  gives  a  larger  number 
of  distinct  pictures  on  the  upward  drive.  The  hills  do  not  huddle 
around  the  road  ;  the  distances  are  more  artistic  ;  and  the  lights  and 
shades  have  better  chance  to  weave  their  more  subtle  witchery  upon 
the  distant  mountains  that  bar  the  vision, — upon  the  whale  back  of 
Moosehillock,  and  the  crags  and  spires  that  face  each  other  in  the 
Franconia  Notch.  < 

The  picture  of  the  Pemigewassct,  seen  from  a  bend  of  the  road  in 
the  little  village  of  Campton,  will  be  one  of  the  prominent  pleasures 
of  the  afternoon.  How  briskly  it  cuts  its  Avay  in  sweeping  curves 
through  the  luxuriant  fields  !  and  with  what  pride  it  is  watched  for 
miles  of  its  wanderings  by  the  Welch  mountain  completely  filling  the 
background,  from  which  its  tide  seems  to  be  pouring,  and  upon  whose 
shoulders,  perhaps,  the  clouds  are  busily  dropping  fantastic  shawls  of 
shadow  !  In  this  part  of  its  course,  the  river  is  scarcely  less  free 
than  it  Avas  in  the  days  which  Whittier  alludes  to,  in  his  noble  apos- 
trophe to  the  Merrimack  : — 

Oh,  child  of  that  white-crested  mountain  whose  springs 
Gush  forth  in  the  shade  of  the  cliff  eagle's  wings, 
Down  whose  slopes  to  the  lowlands  thy  wild  waters  shine, 
Leaping  gray  walls  of  rock,  flashing  tlirough  the  dwarf  pine. 

From  that  cloud-curtained  cradle  so  cold  and  so  lone. 
From  the  arms  of  that  wintry-locked  mother  of  stone. 
By  hills  hung  with  forests,  through  vales  wide  and  free. 
Thy  mountain-born  brightness  glanced  down  to  the  sea' 

No  bridge  arched  thy  waters  save  that  where  the  trees 
Stretched  their  long  arms  above  thee,  and  kissed  in  the  breeze: 
No  sound  save  the  lapse  of  the  waves  on  thy  shores, 
The  plunging  of  otters,  the  light  dip  of  oars. 

But  the  most  strikmg  views  which  the  ride  from  Plymouth  to  the 


oo 


THE    WHITE    HILLS. 


tlume  House  affords,  are  to  be  found  after  passing  the  "Grafton 
House  "  in  Thornton.  The  distant  Notch  does  not  show  as  yet  the 
Bavageness  of  its  teeth  ;  but  the  arrangement  of  the  principal  Fran- 
conia  mountains  in  half-sexagon — so  that  we  get  a  strong  impression 


.A. 


of  their  mass,  and  yet  sec  their  separate  steely  edges,  gleaming 
with  different  lights,  running  down  to  the  valley — is  one  of  the  rare 
pictures  in  New  Hampshire.  What  a  noble  combination, — those 
keen  contours  of  the  Haystack  pyramids,  and  the  knotted  mus- 
cles of  Mount  Lafayette,  beyond !  He  hides  his  rough  head,  as  far 
as  possible,  behind  his  neighbor,  but  pushes  out  that  limb  -which  looks 
like  an  arm  from  a  statue  of  a  struggling  Hercules  that  some  Titan 

DO  O 

Angelo  might  ha\e  hewn.     A  visitor  with  an  eye  for  these  strongest 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  23 

lines  of  expression  in  the  mountains  has  finely  said :  "  As  in  Flax- 
man's  drawings  of  Homeric  heroes  and  horses,  one  fine  hair-stroke 
reveals  the  whole  beauty  and  force  of  that  regal  fancy,  so  these  out- 
lines of  the  hills,  by  the  Divine  Hand,  wonderfully  express  the 
immense  vitality  curbed,  but  not  lost,  which  shot  them  up  from  cen- 
tral abysses."  The  downward  roll  of  that  spur  of  Lafayette  strik- 
ingly resembles  the  convolutions  of  the  famous  Trinity  Cape,  on  the 
Saguenay. 

The  Pemigewasset  valley  was  early  settled  by  Scotch  emigrants. 
Possibly  they  were  attracted  by  some  resemblance  to  the  Highland 
scenery  of  their  old  home.  No  mountain  of  Perthshire  or  Inverness 
is  so  high  as  Lafayette  ;  and  they  could  not  have  seen,  in  the 
Trossachs,  mountain-walls  more  sheer  and  threatening  than  "  The 
Notch  "  would  have  showed  them,  if  they  could  have  clambered  into 
it  before  the  present  road  was  made.  In  fact,  a  visitor  famihar  with 
Scott's  poetry,  driving  up  to  "  The  Notch  "  and  into  it  for  the  first 
time,  about  sunset,  would  recall  this  passage  from  "  The  Lady  of 
the  Lake,"  and  feel  that  it  might  have  been  written  for  Franconia: — 

The  western  waves  of  ebbing  day 
Roll'd  o'er  the  glen  then-  level  wsiy; 
Each  purple  peak,  each  fluity  spire, 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire. 
But  not  a  setting  beam  could  glow 
Within  the  dark  ravines  below, 
Where  twined  the  path,  in  shadow  hid, 
Round  many  a  rocky  pyramid. 
Shooting  abruptly  from  the  dell 
Its  thunder-splinter'd  pinnacle; 
Round  many  an  insulated  mass. 
The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pass, 
Huge  as  the  tower  which  builders  vain 
Presumptuous  piled  on  Shinar's  plain. 
The  rocky  summit,  split  and  rent, 
Form'd  turret,  dome,  or  battlement. 
Or  seem'd  fantastically  set 
With  cupola  or  minaret, 
Wild  crests  as  pagod  ever  decked. 
Or  mosque  of  eastern  architect 


g4  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

Nor  were  these  eartli-born  castles  bare 
Nor  lacked  they  many  a  banner  fair; 
For  from  their  shiver'd  brows  display'a, 
Fai   o'er  tlie  unfathomable  glade, 
All  twinkling  with  the  dew-drops  sheen       , 
Th3  brier-rose  fell  in  streamers  green 
And  creeping  shrubs,  of  thousand  dyes 
Waved  in  the  west-wind's  summer  sighs. 

Of  the  resources  of  wildness  and  beauty  within  the  five  miles  of  the 
Franconia  pass — the  Eagle  Clifis,  the  Profile,  the  Basin,  the  Flume, 
the  Cascades,  and  the  ascent  of  Mount  Lafayette,  we  are  to  treat,  of 
course,  in  another  chapter.  Now,  we  must  briefly  allude  to  the 
approach  to  the  mountains  by 


THE   CONNECTICUT   VALLEY. 

The  same  train  which  is  left  at  Plymouth  by  those  who  wish  to  go 
directly  by  stage  to  the  Flume  House,  will  carry  passengers  some 
seventy  miles  north  of  Plymouth,  to  Littleton.  This  village  is  on  the 
Lower  Amonoosuc  River,  very  near  its  junction  with  the  Connecticut. 
The  cars  that  leave  Boston  in  the  morning  reach  Littleton  about 
five  in  the  afternoon.  B>om  Littleton  it  is  eleven  miles  to  the  Profile 
House  in  the  Franconia  Notch,  and  twenty-two  miles  to  the  Crawford 
House,  near  the  White  Mountain  Notch.  So  that  a  tra/eller,  on  the 
same  day  that  he  leaves  Boston,  can  reach  the  great  Franconia 
range  from  the  northwest,  before  the  purple  has  faded  from  Lafay- 
ette, and  the  expression  of  the  Profile  has  faded  out  in  the  twilight. 
Or,  later  in  the  evening,  about  nine  o'clock,  he  can  be  landed  by  stage 
at  the  gateway  of  the  Notch ;  or  can  stop  at  the  White  Mountain 
House,  five  miles  nearer  to  Littleton  than  the  Crawford  House, 
and  thus  save  an  hour's  ride  after  dark.  To  reach  Franconia  the 
came  day,  from  Boston,  one  can  choose  between  the  Littleton  route 


I'lIK    FOL'R    VALLEYS. 


25 


with  its  eleven  miles  staging,  or  the  Plymouth  route,  up  the  Pemige- 
wasset,  with  the  afternoon  stage  drive  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles. 
But  if  one  desires  to  reach  the  White  Mountain  Notch  on  the 
same  day  that  he  starts  from  Boston,  the  Littleton  route  is  the  only 
one  that  will  enable  him  to  do  it.  By  the  Saco  valley,  it  will  be 
remembered,  a  day  and  a  half  of  continuous  travel  is  required,  with 
»xty  miles  of  stage  riding. 


The  peculiarity  of  this  approach  to  the  mountains  is  that  the 
highest  ranges  are  seen  first  of  all.  Tlie  ride  from  Littleton  to  Beth- 
lehem brings  into  full  view  the  whole  extent  of  the  White  Mountain 
'•ange,  and  also  the  grand  outlines  of  Mount  Lafayette  and  its  neigh- 


26  THE    WHITE    HILLS. 

boring  peaks.  The  stages  reach  Bethlehem  at  about  the  time  in  the 
afternoon  when  the  Hght  is  most  favorable,  and  begins  to  flush  the 
Mount  Washington  range  with  the  richest  coloring.  It  is  a  great 
pity  that  Bethlehem  is  not  one  of  the  prominent  stopping-places  for 
travellers  who  seek  the  mountain  region.  No  village  commands  so 
grand  a  panoramic  view.  The  whole  horizon  is  fretted  with  moun- 
tains. If  the  public  houses  here  were  more  attractive  or  commo- 
dious, persons  could  be  tempted  to  pass  two  or  three  days  ;  and  they 
would  find  themselves  more  and  more  fascinated  with  the  views  from 
the  village  of  the  solid  pyramid  of  Lafayette,  and  of  the  steep  slopes, 
crowned  by  the  dome  of  Mount  Washington,  whose  cascades  feed  the 
Connecticut. 

Bethlehem  is  about  as  far  from  Mount  Washington  as  North  Con- 
way is,  and  lies  on  the  opposite  side.  The  drives  in  the  neighborhood, 
commanding  as  they  do,  within  short  distances,  both  the  Franconia 
and  the  White  jNIountain  Notches,  and  the  meadows  of  the  Con- 
necticut, are  very  varied  and  delightful.  The  town  lies,  also,  at  the 
favorable  landscape-distance  from  the  hills.  An  enthusiastic  villager 
used  to  speak  to  us  Avith  great  contempt  of  the  Notches  in  which 
people  rushed  to  burrow  like  moles,  and  remarked,  "  I  tell  'em,  if 
they  want  to  see  seenyury^  this  is  the  place."  Whether  his  taste  for 
natural  beauty  was  affected  by  the  fact  that  he  kept  a  small  public 
house  in  Bethlehem,  is  a  question  we  will  not  raise.  That  his  opin- 
ion was  correct  is  more  clear. 

The  Connecticut  valley  is  also  reached  from  the  eastern  side,  by 
the  Grand  Trunk  Railway  of  Canada.  This  road  crosses  the  Con- 
necticut at  Northumberland,  some  thirty  miles  above  Gorham.  From 
this  point  it  is  nine  miles,  by  stage,  to  Lancaster,  N.  H.  ;  which  is 
one  of  the  most  charming  villages  the  Connecticut  can  boast.  By 
this  route  one  can  leave  Boston  in  the  morning,  and  reach  Lancaster 
between  eight  and  nine  in  the  evening.  This  town,  which  is  the 
county  seat  of  Coos,  has  not  been  prominent  as  a  place  of  resort  for 
the  lovers  of  mountain  scenery ;  but  we  are  sure  that  it  is  destined 
hereafter  to  attract  a  far  larger  proportion  of  visitors  and  guests.    If 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  27 

the  Grand  Trunk  Railway  had  passed  through  it,  according  to  the  first 
intention,  it  would  doubtless  have  been  the  great  rival  of  North  Con- 
way. A  new,  spacious,  and  excellent  public  house  has  now  been 
finished  in  Lancaster,  and  it  must  hereafter  take  its  place  as  one 
of  the  taost  attractive  resorts,  in  the  near  neighborhood  of  the 
mountains. 

The  drives  about  Lancaster  for  interest  and  beauty  cannot  be  sur- 
passed. The  river  flows  directly  through  the  town,  and  its  intervale 
has  a  never  wearying  charm. 

The  tasselled  maize,  full  grain  or  clover, 
Far  o'er  the  level  meadow  grows, 
And  through  it,  like  a  wayward  rover, 
The  noble  river  gently  flows. 

Majestic  elms,  with  trunks  unshaken 
By  all  the  storms  an  age  can  bring. 
Trail  sprays  whose  rest  the  zephyrs  waken, 
Yet  lithesome  with  the  juice  of  spring. 

Grand  combinations,  too,  of  the  river  and  its  meadows  with  the  Fran- 
conia  range  and  the  vast  White  Mountain  wall,  are  to  be  had  in  short 
drives,  beyond  the  river,  upon  the  Lunenburg  hills.  There  are  sev- 
eral hills  of  moderate  height  around  the  town  from  which  picturesque 
sections  of  the  mountain  surroundings  are  to  be  enjoyed.  The  Fran- 
conia  Notch  may  be  reached  in  four  or  five  hours ;  and  afternoon 
drives  to  various  points  within  ten  miles  can  be  taken,  where  both  the 
great  ranges  are  included  within  the  sweep  of  the  eye.  We  would 
especially  speak  of  the  spectacle  from  Bray  Hill,  on  the  edge  of 
Whitefield,  around  which  Nature  spreads,  about  five  in  the  afternoon, 
as  gorgeous  a  feast  of  color  on  the  meadows  and  cultivated  uplands, 
that  lie  within  the  wide  circle  of  larger  mountain  guards,  as  New 
Hampshire  can  supply. 

A  ride  of  eight  miles  to  the  village  of  Jefferson,  where  the  road 
from  Gorham  unites  with  the  Cherry  Mountain  road  to  "The  Notch," 
gives,  as  we  shall  show  hereafter,  the  very  grandest  view  of  the 
White  Mountain  range,  and  of  IMount  Lafayette,  also,  which  can  be 


28  THE    WHITE  niLLS. 

found.     Here  Mount  Washington  towers,  in  satisfactory  majesty, 
above  the  whole  curving  line  of  the  confederate  summits. 

Stern  Sagamore!  where  are  the  tawny  tribes 
Who  gave  to  thee  a  name,  and  roved  supreme 
Around  thy  footV  the  travelling  sun,  each  day 
Returning  from  the  prairies  of  the  West, 
Will  tell  thee  he  has  seen  their  sepulchres 
.  Where  the  lank  wolf  the  lonely  desert  roams; — 
Thou  hast  survived  them  all,  and  to  this  day 
Thou  gazest  upon  argent  streams,  and  lakes 
Dreaming  among  the  hills,  and  clu.-tering  elma, 
That  seem  like  columns  of  decaying  fanes. 
About  whose  mouldering  shafts  and  capitals 
Ihe  ivy  clings  most  beautiful  but  sad; 
And  thou  beholdest  too  the  haunts  of  man — 
His  rural  homes  embowered  'mid  waving  groves, 
His  yellow  harvests  l)illowing  in  the  breeze, 
And  the  proud  monuments  that  mark  his  skill,  , 

For  which  he  lauds  himself  unto  the  skies; — 
But  dbst  thou  not  contemplate  by  the  side 
Of  these  his  works  the  solemn  village  spires. 
Whose  frequent  curfews  knoll  from  day  to  day 
Reluctant  generations  to  the  grave  "•' 
Our  very  works  are  tombstones  to  our  dust! 
Achilles  rears  his  mound  and  saitli,  "I  lived!" 
God  utters  forth  a  voice,  and  mountains  rise 
And!  whisper  to  eternity,  "I  am!" 

What  a  pity  that  the  hills  could  not  have  kept  the  names  which 
the  Indian  tribes  gave  to  them  !  The  names  wbich  the  highest  peaks 
of  the  great  range  bear  were  given  to  them  in  1820,  by  a  party  from 
Lancaster.  How  absurd  the  order  is  !  Beginning  at  "  The  Notch," 
and  passing  around  to  Gorham,  these  are  the  titles  of  the  sum- 
mits which  are  all  seen  from  the  village  just  spoken  of:  Webster, 
Clinton,  Pleasant,  Franklin,  Monroe,  Washington,  Clay,  Jefferson, 
Adams,  Madison.  What  a  wretched  jumble  !  These  are  what  we 
have  taken  in  exchange  for  such  Indian  words  as  Agiochook,  which 
is  the  baptismal  title  of  Mount  Washington,  and  for  words  like  Am- 
monoosuc,  Moosehillock,  Contoocook,  Pennacook,  Pentucket.  Think, 
too,  of  the  absurd  association  of  names  which  the  three  mountains  that 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  29 

rise  over  the  Franconia  Notch  are  insulted  with — Mount  Lafayette, 
Mount  Pleasant,  and  Mount  Liberty  !  How  much  better  to  have 
given  the  highest  peaks  of  both  ranges  the  names  of 'some  great 
tribes  or  chiefs,  such  as  Saugus,  Passaconaway,  Uncanoonuc,  Won- 
aalancet,  Weetamoo,  Bomazeen,  Winnepurkit,  Kancamagus, — words 
that  chime  with  Saco,  and  Merrimack,  and  Sebago,  and  Connecticut, 
and  Ossipee,  and  Androscoggin. 

Even  the  general  name,  "  White  Mountains,"  is  usually  inappli- 
cable during  the  season  in  which  visitors  see  them.  All  unwooded 
summits  of  tolerable  eminence  are  white  in  the  winter ;  and  in  the 
summer,  the  mountains  of  the  Washington  range,  seen  at  a  distance 
in  the  ordinary  daylight,  are  pale,  dim  green.  The  first  title,  "  Crys- 
tal Hills,"  which  the  Avhite  explorers  gave  them,  it  would  have  been 
better  to  have  retained.  But  how  much  richer  is  the  Indian  name 
"  Waumbek !  "  The  full  title  they  applied  to  them  was  Waumbek- 
Methna,  which  signifies,  it  is  said,  "  Mountains  with  snowy  fore- 
heads." Yet  not  a  public  house  in  all  the  mountain  region  bears 
the  name  of  Waumbek,  which  is  so  musical,  and  which  might 
be  so  profitably  exchanged  for  Alpine  House,  or  Glen  House,  or 
Profile  House,  or  Tip-Top  House.  We  are  surprised,  .indeed, 
that  the  appellation  "  Kan  Ran  Vugarty,"  signifying  the  continued 
likeness  of  a  gull,  which  it  is  said  one  Indian  tribe  apphed  to 
the  range,  has  not  been  adopted  by  some  landlord  as  a  title  to  a 
hotel,  or  in  some  village  as  the  name  of  a  river,  on  account  of  its 
barbarity. 

Would  this  be  worse  than  to  give  the  name  "  Israel's  River  "  to 
the  charming  stream,  fed  from  the  rills  of  Washington  and  Jefferson, 
which  flows  through  the  Jefferson  meadows,  and  empties  into  the 
Connecticut  ?  The  Indian  name  was  Singrawac.  Yet  no  ti'ace  of 
this  charming  name  is  left  in  Jefferson  or  Lancaster.  Think  of  put- 
ting "  Mount  Monroe,"  or  "  Mount  Clay,"  or  "  Mount  Franklin,"  or 
"Peabody  River,"  or  "  Berlin  Falls,"  or  "Israel's  River,"  into 
poetry.     The  White  Mountains  have  lost  the  privilege  of  being  en« 


30  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

shrined  in  such  sonorous  rhythm  and  such  melody  as  Longfellow  has 
given  to  the  Indian  names  m  his  lines  : — 

Down  the  rivers,  o'er  the  prairies, 
Came  the  warriors  of  the  nations, 
Came  tlie  Delawares  and  IMohawlss, 
Came  the  Choctaws  and  Camanches, 
Came  the  Shoshonies  and  Blackfeet, 
Came  the  Pawnees  and  Omawhaws, 
•         Came  the  Mandans  and  Dacotahs, 
Came  the  Hurons  and  Ojibways, 
All  the  warriors  drawn  together 
By  the  signal  of  the  Peace-Pipe, 
To  the  mountains  of  the  prairie, 
To  the  gi-eat  red  Pipe-stone  quarry. 

The  eastern  wilderness  of  Maine  is  more  favored  in  this  respect,  of 
which  Whittier  has  written  in  his  poem  of  "  The  Lumbermen  :  " — 

Where  the  crystal  Ambijejis 

Stretches  broad  and  clear, 

And  Millnoket's  pnie-black  ridges 

Hide  the  browsing  deer: 

Where,  through  lakes  and  wide  morasses. 

Or  through  rocky  walls. 

Swift  and  strong,  Penobscot  passes 

White  with  foamy  falls; 

Where,  through  clouds,  are  glimpses  given 

Of  Katahdin's  sides, — 

Rock  and  forest  piled  to  heaven. 

Torn  and  ploughed  by  slides! 

Far  below,  the  Indian  trapping. 

In  the  sunshine  warm ; 

Far  above,  the  snow-cloud  wrapping 

Half  the  peak  in  storm. 

O'er  us,  to  the  southland  heading, 

Screams  the  gray  wild-goose; 

On  the  night  air  sounds  the  treading 

Of  the  brindled  moose. 

Noiseless  creeping,  while  we're  sleeping, 

Frost  his  task-work  plies; 

Soon,  his  icy  bridges  heaping. 

Shall  our  log-piles  rise. 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  31 

The  lumbermen  work,  also,  during  the  fall  and  wmter,  in  the  Avilder- 
ness  that  slopes  into  Randolph  and  Jefferson.  They  pile  the  hem- 
locks and  the  hackmetacks  by  the  stream,  so  that 

When,  with  sounds  of  smothered  thunder, 

On  some  nij;ht  of  rain, 

Lake  and  river  biealv  asunder 

Winter's  wealicned  chain, 

Down  the  wild  JIarch  flood  shall  bear  them- 

To  the  saw-mill's  wheel. 

Or  where  Steam,  the  slave,  shall  tear  them 

With  his  teeth  of  steel. 

But  "  Whipple's  Grant,"  and  "  Hart's  Location,"  and  "  Israel's 
River,"  and  "  Knot-Hole  "  road,  are  not  so  redolent  of  poetry  as 
crystal  Ambijejis  and  Katahdin  and  Millnoket.  The  lower  portion 
of  New  Hampshire  is  more  fortunate  in  this  respect,  as  the  following 
passage  from  Whittier's  "  Bridal  of  Pennacook "  will  convince  out 
readers  delightfully  : — 

The  trapper,  that  night  on  Turee's  brook, 

And  the  weary  fisher  on  Contoocook, 

Saw  over  the  marshes  and  through  the  pine,  ' 

And  down  on  the  river  the  dance-lights  shine. 

For  the  Saugus  Sachem  had  come  to  woo 
The  Bashaba's  daughter  Weetamoo, 
And  laid  at  her  father's  feet  that  night 
His  softest  furs  and  wampum  white. 

From  the  Crystal  Hills  to  the  far  Sovitheast 
The  river  Sagamores  came  to  the  feast; 
And  chiefs  whose  homes  the  sea-winds  shook, 
Sat  down  on  the  mats  of  Pennacook. 

They  came  from  Sunapee's  shore  of  rock. 
From  the  snowy  sources  of  Snooganock, 
And  from  rough  Coos  whose  thick  woods  shake 
Their  pine-cones  in  Umbagog  lake. 

From  Ammonoosuck's  mountain  pass 
Wild  as  his  home  came  Chepewass; 
And  the  Keenomps  of  the  hills  which  throw 
Their  shade  on  the  Smile  of  Manito. 

7* 


32  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

With  pipes  of  peace  and  bows  unstrung, 
Glowing  with  pauit  came  old  and  young, 
,  In  wampum  and  fnrs  and  feathers  arrayed 
To  the  dance  and  feast  the  Bashaba  made^ 

Bird  of  the  air  and  beast  of  the  field, 
All  which  the  woods  and  waters  yield, 
On  dishes  of  bircii  and  hemlock  piled. 
Garnished  and  graced  that  banquet  wild^ 

Steaks  of  the  brown  bear  fat  and  large, 
From  the  rocky  slopes  of  the  Kiarsarge; 
Delicate  trout  from  Babboosuck  brook, 
And  salmon  spear'd  in  the  Contoocook; 

Squirrels  which  fed  where  nuts  fell  thick 
In  the  gravelly  bed  of  the  Otternic, 
And  small  wild  hens  in  reed-snares  caught 
From  the  banks  ot  Sondaganlee  brouglit; 

Pike  and  perch  from  tlie  Suncook  taken, 
Nuts  from  the  trees  of  the  Black  Hills  shaken, 
Cranberries  picked  in  the  Squamscot  bog, 
And  grapes  from  the  vines  of  Piscataquog. 

But  the  Indian  names  and  legends  are  shorn  from  the  upper  moun- 
tain regic.n.  They  have  not  been  caught  for  our  literature.  The 
valleys  are  almost  as  bare  of  them  as  the  White  Mountain  cones  are 
of  verdure.     What  a  pity  it  is  that  our  great  hills 

Piled  to  the  clouds, — our  rivers  overhung 

By  forests  which  have  known  no  other  change 

For  ages,  than  the  budding  and  the  fall 

Of  leaves — our  valleys  lovelier  than  those 

Which  the  old  poets  sang  of— should  but  figure 

On  the  apocfyphal  chart  of  speculation 

As  pastures,  wood-lots,  mill-sites,  with  the  privileges. 

Rights  and  appurtenances,  which  make  up 

A  Yankee  Paradise — unsung,  unknown 

To  beautiful  tradition ;  even  their  names, 

Whose  melody  yet  lingers  like  the  last 

Vibration  of  the  red  man's  requiem, 

Exchanged  for  syllables  significant 

Of  cotton  mill  and  rail-car! 

We  can  scarcely  find  a  settler  who  can  tell  any  story  learned  in 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS. 


33 


childhood  of  Indian  bravery,  sufl'cring,  cruelty,  or  love.  Looking  up 
to  the  great  range  from  the  village  of  Jefferson,  wc  must  say  with 
Hiawatha : — 

J.o!  how  all  things  fade  and  perish! 
From  the  memory  of  the  old  men 
Fade  away  the  great  traditions, 
The  achievements  of  the  warriors, 
The  adventnres  of  the  hunters, 
All  the  wisdom  of  the  Jledas, 
All  the  craft  of  the  Wabenos, 
All  the  marvellons  dreams  and  visions. 
Of  the  Jossakeeds.  the  Prophets! 


34  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 


HISTORY    OF   THE   EXPLORATION   OF   THE   l^HITE   HILLS 

"  You  ask,"  he  said,  "  what  guide 

Me  through  trackless  thickets  led. 

Through  tliick-stemmed  woodlands  rough  and  wideY 

I  found  the  water's  bed. 

The  watercourses  were  my  guide; 

I  travelled  grateful  by  their  side, 

Or  through  their  channel  dry; 

They  led  me  through  the  thicket  damp, 

Through  brake  and  fern,  the  beavers'  camp 

Through  beds  of  granite  cut  my  road. 

And  their  resistless  friendship  showed; 

The  falling  waters  led  me. 

The  foodful  waters  fed  me, 

And  brought  me  to  the  lowest  land, 

Unerring  to  the  ocean  sand. 

The  moss  upon  the  forest  bark  ^ 

Was  polestar  when  the  night  was  dark. 

The  purple  beiries  in  the  wood 

Supplied  me  necessary  food; 

For  Nature  ever  faithful  is 

To  such  as  trust  her  faithfulness." 

Before  proceeding  to  the  chapters  on  the  avenues  to  the  highest 
mountains,  and  the  pictures  -which  they  supply,  let  us  glance  at  the 
most  important  visits  which  have  been  made  to  the  loftiest  range  for 
exploration  and  for  the  purposes  of  science. 

The  first  mention  of  the  White  Mountains  in  print,  occurs  in  John 
Josselyn's  New  England's  Rarities  Discovered,  printed  in  1672,  a 
book  now  chiefly  memorable  as  furnishing  the  earUest  account  of  our 
plants  ;  and  this  writer,  in  his  Voyages,  printed  a  year  or  two  later, 
gives  us  the  best  part  of  the  mythology  of  our  highest  hills.  The 
story,  as  Josselyn  tells  it,  is  curious  enough  ;  and  its  resemblance  to 
one  of  the  most  venerable  of  Caucasian  traditions  should  seem  to  sug- 
gest some  connection  of  the  people  which  transmitted  it,  with  the 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  35 

common  Asiatic  home  of  the  bearded  races.  "  Ask  them,"  says 
Josselyn,  "  whither  they  go  when  they  dye,  they  will  tell  you  point- 
ing with  their  finger  to  Heaven  beyond  the  white  mountains,  and  do 
hint  at  NoaJi's  Floud,  as  may  be  conceived  by  a  story  they  have 
received  from  Father  to  Son,  time  out  of  mind,  that  a  great  while 
agon  their  Countrey  was  drowned,  and  all  the  People  and  other 
Creatures  in  it,  only  one  Powmv  and  his  Wehb  foreseeing  the  Floud 
fled  to  the  white  mountains  carrying  a  hare  along  with  them  and  so 
escaped  ;  after  a  Avhile  the  Pouhuv  sent  the  Hare  away,  who  not 
returning  emboldened  thereby  they  descended,  and  lived  many  years 
after,  and  had  many  Children,  from  whom  the  Countrie  was  filled 
again  with  Indians.''^*  The  English  name  of  our  mountains,  which 
had  its  origin,  perhaps,  while  as  yet  they  were  only  known  to  adven- 
turous mariners,  following  the  still  silent  coasts  of  New  England, 
relates  them  to  all  other  high  mountains,  from  Dhawala-Giri,  the 
White  Mountain  of  the  Himmalayah,  to  Craig  Eryri  or  Snowdon  of 
Wales  ;  but  it  is  interesting  to  find  them  also,  in  this  legend,  in  some 
sort  of  mythical  connection  with  traditions  and  heights  of  the  ancient 
continent,  the  first  knowledge  of  which  carries  us  back  to  the  very 
beginnings  of  human  history. 

Josselyn  spent  fifteen  months  in  New  England,  at  his  first  visit,  in 
1638,  and  eight  years  at  his  second,  in  1663  ;  but  there  is  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  he  visited  the  mountains  till  the  latter  period, f  which 
was  twenty  years  after  the  journeys  of  which  Winthrop's  History  has 
preserved  a  record.  It  is  to  Darby  Field  of  Pascataquack  that  the 
credit  is  now  generally  assigned  of  being  the  first  explorer  of  the 
White  Mountains.  Accompanied  by  two  Indians,  Winthrop  tells  us. 
Field  climbed  the  highest  summit  in  1642.  It  appears  from  the 
account  that  "  within  12  miles  of  the  top  was  neither  tree  nor  grass 
but  low  savins,  which  they  went  upon  the  top  of  sometimes,  but  a 

♦  Josselyn's  Voyages,  p.  135.  "  The  Indians  gave  them  the  name  of  Agiocochook.'" 
Belknap,  N.  H.  iii.  p.  31.     There  are  one  or  two  other,  so  called,  Indian  names. 

t  Mr.  Savage,  in  a  note  to  Winthrop,  con-ecting  Belknap's  misstatement,  takes  Uiis 
view,  wliich  appears  to  have  all  the  evidence  in  its  favor. 


36  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

continual  ascent  upon  rocks,  on  a  ridge  between  two  valleys  filled 
with  snow,  out  of  which  came  two  branches  of  Saco  River,  which  met 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill  where  Avas  an  Indian  town  of  some  200  people. 
....  By  the  way,  among  the  rocks,  there  were  two  ponds,  one  a 
blackish  water,  and  the  other  a  reddish.  The  top  of  all  was  plain 
about  GO  feet  square.  On  the  north  side  was  such  a  precipice,  aa 
they  could  scarce  discern  to  the  bottom.  They  had  neither  cloud 
nor  wind  on  the  top,  and  moderate  heat."*  This  appears  to  have 
been  in  June,  and  "  about  a  month  after  he  went  again  with  five  or 
six  in  his  company,"  f  and  "  the  report  he  brought  of  shining  stones, 
&c.,  caused  divers  others  to  travel  thither  but  they  found  nothing 
worth  their  pains."  J 

Of  these  others  are  particularly  mentioned  Thomas  Gorges,  Esq., 
and  Mr.  Vines,  two  magistrates  of  the  province  of  Sir  Ferdinando 
Gorges,  who  went  "  about  the  end  "  of  August,  of  the  same  year. 
"  They  went  up  Saco  River  in  birch  canoes  ...  to  Pegwaggett, 
an  Indian  town.  From  the  Indian  town  they  went  up  hill  (for  the 
most  part)  about  30  miles  in  woody  lands,  then  they  went  about  7 
or  8  miles  upon  shattered  rocks,  without  tree  or  grass,  very  steep  all 
the  way.  At  the  top  is  a  plain  about  3  or  4  miles  over,  all  shat- 
tered stones,  and  upon  that  is  another  rock  or  spire,  about  a  mile  in 
height,  and  about  an  acre  of  ground  at  the  top.  At  the  top  of  the 
plain  arise  four  great  rivers,  each  of  them  so  much  water,  at  the  first 
issue,  as  would  drive  a  mill,  Connecticut  River  from  two  heads,  at  the 
N.  W.  and  S.  W.,  which  join  in  one  about  CO  miles  off",  Saco  River 
on  the  S.  E.,  Amascoggin  which  runs  into  Casco  Bay  at  the  N.  E., 
and  Kennebeck,  at  the  N.  by  E.  The  mountain  runs  E.  and  W. 
thirty  miles,  but  the  peak  is  above  all  the  rest."  §  There  can  be  but 
little  doubt  that  Field,  entering  the  valley,  it  is  likely  of  Ellis  River, 
left  it  for  the  great  southeastern  ridge  of  Mount  Washington,  the 
same  which  has  since  been  called  Boott's  Spur.    This  was  the  "  ridge 

*  Winthrop,  N.  E.,  by  Savage,  ii.  p.  67.  f  Ibid.  t  Ibid.  p.  89. 

^  Ibid.  p.  89      Hubbard's  account  (Hist.  N.  E.  p.  381)  is  made  up  from   both  of  Win- 
throp's. 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  37 

between  two  valleys  filled  with  snow,  out  of  which  came  two  branches 
of  Saco  River,"  and  it  led  him,  as  i)robably  the  other  party  also,  to 
the  broadest  spread  of  that  great  plain,  of  which  the  southeastern 
grassy  expanse,  of  some  forty  acres,  has 'long  been  known  as  Big- 
elow's  Lawn,  and  the  "  top,"  to  the  north,  where  the  two  ponds  are, 
furnished  Gorges  with  a  part,  no  doubt,  of  the  sources  of  his  rivers. 
The  writer  sought  to  trace  this  early  way  in  1843,  leaving  the  road, 
in  Jackson,  at  about  four  miles  distance  from  the  Elkins  farm-house 
in  Pinkham  woods,  and  striking  directly  up  Boott's  Spur  to  the  sum- 
mit ;  and  was  surprised,  after  struggling  through  the  region  of  dwarf 
firs,  and  surmounting  a  considerable  space  of  the  bald  region,  with 
the  first  view  of  the  peak  of  Mount  Washington,  as  a  pretty  regu- 
lar pyramid,  in  what  appeared  a  plain  (which  is  just  the  way  it 
struck  Gorges,  and  also  Josselyn),  that  had  ever  occurred  to  him. 
Davis's  bridle-path,  opened  in  1845,  traverses  the  bald  part  of  the 
same  ridge,  and  afforded  the  same  view,  while  it  was  in  use.  But 
the  other  early  account,  that  of  Josselyn,  indicates  possibly  another 
way  of  ascent,  as  inviting,  perhaps,  to  a  new  comer  to  the  mountains, 
as  it  is  difficult,  and  even  dangerous.  "  Fourscore  miles,"  says  Jos- 
selyn "  (upon  a  direct  line)  to  the  Northwest  of  Scarborou',  a  Ridge 
of  Mountains  run  Northwest  and  Northeast  an  hundred  leagues, 
known  by  the  name  of  the  White  Mountains^  upon  Avhich  lieth  Snow 
all  the  year,  and  is  a  Land-mark  twenty  miles  off  at  Sea.  It  is  i-is- 
ing  ground  from  the  Sea  shore  to  these  Hills,  and  they  are  inacces- 
sible but  by  the  Gullies  which  the  dissolved  Snow  hath  made ;  in 
these  Gullies  grow  Saven  bushes,  which  being  taken  hold  of  are  a 
good  help  to  the  climbing  discoverer  ;  upon  the  top  of  the  highest  of 
these  Mountains  is  a  large  Level  or  Plain  of  a  days  journey  over, 
whereon  nothing  grows  but  Moss  ;  at  the  farther  end  of  this  Plain  ia 
another  Hill  called  the  Sagar-loaf^  to  outward  appearance  a  rude 
heap  of  massie  stones  piled  one  upon  another,  and  you  may  as  you 
ascend  step  from  one  stone  to  another,  as  if  you  were  going  up  a 
pair  of  stairs,  but  winding  still  about  the  Hill  till  you  come  to  the 
top,  which  will  require  half  a  days  time,  and  yet  it  is  not  above  a 


38  THE    WHITE    HH.ES. 

Mile,  where  there  is  also  a  Level  of  about  an  Acre  of  ground,  with  a 
pond  of  clear  water  in  the  midst  of  it ;  which  you  may  hear  run 
down,  but  how  it  ascends  is  a  mystery.  From  tliis  rocky  Hill  you 
may  see  the  whole  Country  round  about ;  it  is  far  above  the  lower 
Clouds,  and  from  hence  we  beheld  a  Vapour  (like  a  great  Pillar) 
drawn  up  by  the  Sun  Beams  out  of  a  great  Lake  or  Pond  into  the 
Air,  Avhere  it  was  formed  into  a  Cloud.  The  Country  beyond  these 
Hills  Northward  is  daunting  terrible,  being  full  of  rocky  Hills,  as 
thick  as  Mole-hills  in  a  Meadow,  and  cloathed  with  infinite  thick 
Woods."*  There  are  several  points  in  which  this  narrative  of  Jos- 
selyn's  surpasses  both  the  others  already  given,  and  perhaps  it  might 
have  been  expected  to.  We  miss  indeed  an  account  of  the  author's 
journey  from  the  coast,  and  of  the  way  in  which  the  Avilderness 
struck  him,  but  perhaps  this  is  in  some  good  part  made  up  to  us  by 
a  passage  of  his  Voyages,  Avhere,  after  describing  "  the  countiie 
within"  as  "rockie  and  mountainous,  full  of  tall  wood,"  he  says, 
"  one  stately  mountain  there  is  surmounting  all  the  rest,  about  four 
score  mile  from  the  sea,"  and  then  goes  on  as  follows  :  "  Between 
the  mountains  are  many  ample  rich  and  pregnant  valleys  as  ever  eye 
beheld,  beset  on  each  side  with  variety  of  goodly  trees,  the  grass 
man-high  unmowed,  uneaten,  and  uselessly  withering  ;  "  and  "  within 
these  valleys  .  .  .  spacious  lakes  or  ponds  well  stored  with  fish  and 
beavers  ;  the  original  of  all  the  great  rivers  in  the  countrie,"  f  which, 
add  only  the  black  flies,  "  so  numerous  up  in  the  country  that  a  man 
cannot  draw  his  breath  but  he  will  suck  of  them  in,"  ^  really  gives  a 
rather  striking  sketch  of  what  he  must  have  seen  and  encountered. 
In  the  Voyages,  Josselyn  corrects  what  he  says  of  the  snow's  lying 
the  Avhole  year  upon  the  mountains,  by  excepting  the  month  of  Au- 
gust, §  and  after  remarking  that  "  some  suppose  that  the  White 
Mountains  were  first  raised  by  earthquakes,"  he  adds  that  "  they 
are  hollow,  as  may  be  guessed  by  the  resounding  of  the  rain  upon  the 
level  on  the  top'''  ||     The  pond  on  the  top,  in  this  account,  may  have 

*  Rarities  of  New  Englaml,  p.  3.  f  Josselj'n's  Voyages,  p.  43. 

t  Ibid.  p.  121.  •  §  Ibid.  p.  55.  ||  Ibid.  p.  58. 


THE  FOUR  yajaa:ys.  39 

been  due  to  extraordinary  transient  causes  ;  it  is  not  mentioned  by 
the  other  visitors  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  has  not  been  heard 
of  since.  There  is  nothing  else  to  be  noticed  but  what  was  suggested 
at  the  beginning,  that  the  author's  remark  about  the  mountains  being 
"  inaccessible  except  by  the  gullies,"  seems  to  point  to  an  ascent,  in 
this  case,  by  one  of  the  eastern  gulfs  or  ravines. 

We  next  hear  of  an  ascent  of  the  White  Mountains  by  "  a  ranging 
company,"  which  "  ascended  the  highest  mountain,  on  the  N.  W. 
part,"  so  far,  as  appears,  the  first  ascent  on  that  side,  April  29, 1725, 
and  found,  as  was  to  be  expected,  the  snoAv  deep,  and  the  alpine 
ponds  frozen.*  Another  ranging  party,  which  was  "  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  White  Mountains,  on  a  warm  day  in  the  month  of  March," 
in  the  year  1746,  .had  an  interesting  and  the  first  recorded  expe- 
rience of  a  force,  which  has  left  innumerable  proofs  of  its  efiiciency 
all  through  the  mountains.  It  seems  that  this  party  was  "  alarmed 
with  a  repeated  noise,  which  they  supposed  to  be  the  firing  of  guns. 
On  further  search,  they  found  it  to  be  caused  by  rocks,  falling  from 
the  south  side  of  a  steep  mountain. "f 

The  Western  Pass  of  the  mountains  may  have  been  known  to  the 
Indians,  but  it  was  not  turned  to  account  by  the  English  till  after 
1771,  when  two  hunters,  Timothy  Nash  and  Benjamin  Sawyer, — the 
former  said  by  Messrs.  Farmer  and  Moore  to  have  made  the  discov- 
ery, but  the  latter  certainly  admitted  to  a  share  in  its  benefits,  and 
himself  not  yet  forgotten  in  the  hills, — passed  through  it.  A  road  was 
soon  after  opened  by  the  proprietors  of  lands  in  the  upper  Cohos,  and 
another,  through  the  Eastern  Pass,  was  commenced  in  1774.J  Set- 
tlers began  now  to  make  their  way  into  the  immediate  neighborhood 
of  the  mountains.  The  townships  of  Jefferson,  Shelburne  which 
included  Gorham,  and  Adams  now  Jackson,  successively  received 
inhabitants  from  1773  to  1779,  and  the  wilderness,  if  as  yet  far 
enough  from  blossoming,  was  opened,  and  to  some  extent  tamed. 

It  was  now  that  the  first  company  of  scientific  inquirers  approached 
the  White  Hills.     In  July,  1784,  the  Rev.  Manasseh  Cutler  of  Ip» 

*  Belknap,  N.  H.  iii.  p.  35.  t   Ml  p.  27.  t  M^'-  "'•  P-  36. 


40  THE   WHITE    HH.LS. 

wich,  a  zealous  member  of  the  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sci- 
ences, the  Rev.  Daniel  Little  of  Kennebunk,  also  a  member  of  the 
Academy,  and  Colonel  John  Whipyile  of  Dartmouth,  afterwards 
called  Jefferson,  the  most  prominent  inhabitant  of  the  Cohos  coun- 
try, visited  the  mountains,  "  with  a  view  to  make  particular  observer 
tions  on  the  several  phenomena  that  mi^^ht  occur.  It  happened  unfor- 
tunately that  thick  clouds  covered  the  mountains  almost  the  whole 
time,  so  that  some  of  the  instruments,  which,  with  much  labor,  they 
had  carried  up,  were  rendered  useless."  Others  were  broken.  They 
made  some  unsatisfactory  barometrical  observations,  from  a  compu- 
tation of  which,  the  elevation  of  the  principal  summit  above  the  sea 
was  reckoned  at  ten  thousand  feet ;  but  were  disappointed  in  an 
attempt  at  a  geometrical  admeasurement  from  the  base.*  It  is  likely 
that  the  plants  of  the  higher  regions  were  observed,  and  Mr.  Oakes 
possessed  fragments  of  such  a  collection  made,  either  now  or  later,  by 
Dr.  Cutler ;  but  the  latter  did  not  notice  them  in  his  memoir  on  the 
plants  of  New  England  published  the  next  year  in  the  transactions  of 
the  Academy,  nor  is  there  any  mention  of  them  in  the  six  small  vol- 
umes of  his  botanical  manuscripts  which  have  come  to  my  knowledge. 
Belknap  has  preserved  a  single  passage  from  a  manuscript  of  Dr. 
Cutler's,  which,  in  the  absence  of  anything  else,  has  possibly  interest 
enough  in  this  place  to  be  quoted.  "  There  is  evidently  the  appear- 
ance of  three  zones — 1,  the  Avoods — 2,  the  bald  mossy  part — 3,  the 
part  above  vegetation.  The  same  appearance  has  been  observed  on 
the  Alps,  and  all  other  high  mountains.  I  recollect  no  grass  on  the 
plain.  The  spaces  between  the  rocks  in  the  second  zone,  and  on  the 
plain,  are  filled  with  spruce  and  fir,  which,  perhaps,  have  been  grow- 
ing ever  since  the  creation,  and  yet  many  of  them  have  not  attained 
a  greater  height  than  three  or  four  inches,  but  their  spreading  tops 
are  so  thick  and  strong,  as  to  support  the  weight  of  a  man,  without 
yielding  in  the  smallest  degree  i^  The  snows  and  winds  keeping  the 
surface  even  with  the  general  surface  of  the  rocks.  In  many  places, 
on  the  sides,  we  could  get  glades  of  this  growth,  some  rods  in  extent, 

*  Belknap,  N.  H.  iii.  p.  37. 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  41 

when  we  could,  by  sitting  down  on  our  feet,  slide  the  Avhole  length. 
The  tops  of  the  growth  of  wood  were  so  thick  and  firm,  as  to  bear  us 
currently,  a  considerable  distance,  before  we  arrived  at  the  utmost 
boundaries,  which  were  almost  as  well  defined  as  the  water  on  the 
shore  of  a  pond.  The  tops  of  the  wood  had  the  appearance  of  having 
been  shorn  ofi",  exhibiting  a  smooth  surface,  from  their  upper  limits, 
to  a  great  distance  down  the  mountain."* 

The  way  by  which  Cutler  ascended  the  mountain  is -indicated  by 
the  stream  which  bears  his  name  in  Belknap's  and  Bigelow's  narra- 
tives, and  was  doubtless  very  much  that  taken  and  described  by  the 
last-mentioned  explorer.  "  In  less  than  half  a  mile,  southward  from 
this  fountain  "  of  Ellis  River,  at  the  height  of  land  between  the  Saco 
and  the  Androscoggin,  in  Pinkham  Avoods,  "  a  large  stream,  which 
runs  down  the  highest  of  the  White  Mountains,  falls  into  Ellis  River, 
and  in  about  the  same  distance  from  this,  another  falls  from  the  same 
mountain  ;  the  former  of  these  streams  is  Cutler's  River,  the  latter 
New  River."  f  Cutler's  River  was  still  known  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  solitary  house  in  these  woods,  in  1840,  when  the  writer  followed 
its  course,  on  his  way  to  the  upper  region  of  the  mountains ;  and  the 
name,  he  was  then  told,  by  persons  long  resident  in  the  place,  and 
acquainted  with  the  later  explorations  of  Bigelow  and  others,  was 
given  to  it  at  Dr.  Cutler's  express  desire. J  It  ought  to  be  handed 
down.  # 

President  Dwight  passed  through  the  Notch  in  1797,  and  again  in 
1803,  and  has  left  in  his  Travels  a  description  of  the  scenery  which 
is  still  valuable  for  its  particularity  and  appreciativeness,  and  an 
interesting  account  of  the  first  settlers  of  Nash  and  SaAvyer's,  and 
Hart's  Locations.  It  appears  from  this  that  Eleazar  Rosebrook 
planted  himself  in  the  former  tract,  Avhere  he  Avas  succeeded  many 
years  after  by  the  late  well-known  Ethan  Allen  Crawford,  in  1788. 
Abel  CraAvford,  Avho  married  Rosebrook's  daughter,  and  whom  very 
many  remember  as  the  worthy  Patriarch  of  the  mountains,  began  his 

*  Cutler  MS.  in  Belknap,  iii.  p.  34.  t  Belknap,  N.  H.  iii.  p.  44. 

t  MS.  notebook,  10th  Aug.  1840. 


42  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

clearing  thirteen  miles  below  Rosebrook's,  in  Hart's  Location,  a  few 
years  later  ;  and  one  Davies,  at  about  the  same  time,*  in  the  tract  at 
the  end  of  the  Notch  valley,  afterwards  occupied  by  Willey.f  And 
this  writer  has  also  preserved  a  note  of  some  importance  on  one  of 
the  great  fires  which  have  devastated  the  mountains  of  the  Notch. 
"  When  we  entered  upon  this  farm,"  says  he,  speaking  of  Davies's, 
jvist  mentioned,  "  in  1803,  a  fire  which  not  long  before  had  been  kin- 
dled in  its  skirts,  had  spread  over  an  extensive  region  of  the  moun- 
tains on  the  Northeast ;  and  consumed  all  the  vegetation,  and  most 
of  the  soil,  which  was  chiefly  vegetable  mould,  in  its  progress.  The 
whole  tract,  from  the  base  to  the  summit,  was  alternately  white  and 
dappled  ;  while  the  melancholy  remains  of  half-burnt  trees,  which 
hung  here  and  there  on  the  sides  of  the  immense  steeps,  finished  the 
picture  of  barrenness  and  death."  J  Old  Mr.  Crawford  used  to 
speak  (in  1845  or  6)  of  the  great  fire  which  reduced  Mount  Craw- 
ford to  its  present  condition,  as  having  occurred  some  thirty  years 
before.  The  time  may  well  arrive  when  careful  records  of  these 
irreparable  mischiefs,  which  destroy  in  their  progress  the  very  vital 
ity  of  our  mountains,  and  leave  nothing  but  crumbling  rocks,  the 
sb.elter  of  a  strange  and  spurious  vegetation, — nothing  but  the  ruirs 
of  nature, — shall  possess  a  mournful  value. 

In  July,  1804,  Dr.  Cutler  visited  the  mountains  a  second  time, 
in  company  with  Dr.  W.  D.  Peck,  afterwards  Professor  of  Natural 
History  at  Cambridge.  Barometrical  observations  obtained  on  this 
occasion,  and  computed  by  Mr.  Bowditch,  gave  an  elevation  to  the 
highest  summit  of  7055  feet  above  the  sea.  §  A  collection  of  the 
alpine  plants  was  made  by  Dr.  Peck,  and  was  afterwards  seen  by 
Mr.  Pursh,  whose  citations,  in  his  Flora  of  North  America,  printed 
in  1814,  enable  us  to  determine  the  earhest  recognition  of  several  of 
the  most  interesting  species. 

*  Both  were  there  at  the  time  of  Dr.  Dwight's  visit  in  1797,  and  had  come  in  since 
IJosebroolv's  clearing  was  begun.  E.  A.  Crawford  says  it  was  "soon  after"  1792,  that  his 
father  commenced  in  Hart's  Location.     (Hist,  of  White  Mountains,  p.  19.) 

t   Dwight's  Travels,  ii.  p.  143. 

t    Ibid.  p.  152. 

^  Mem.  Amer.  Acad.  iii.  p.  .32(1. 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  43 

In  1812  a  general  account  of  the  White  Mountains  was  published 
by  Dr.  Belknap,  in  the  last  volume  of  his  history  of  New  Hampshire. 
This  was  made  up  in  part  of  communications  from  Dr.  Cutler,  but 
contains  also  interesting  original  information,  which  has  been  already 
referred  to.  There  does  not  appear  to  be  any  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  historian  himself  penetrated  the  wild  parts  of  the  mountains,  but 
the  name  of  Mount  Washington  was  first  published  in  his  work. 

Up  to  this  time  no  thorough  survey  of  the  Natural  History  of  the 
Mountains  had  been  carried  out.  We  have  seen  the  beginnings  of 
an  acquaintance  with  the  plants.  And  Mr.  Maclure,  and  George 
Gibbs,  Esq.,  had  each  made  more  than  one  visit  to  different  parts  of 
the  region,  with  a  view  to  the  examination  of  its  geology  and  its  min- 
erals. But  Dr.  Bigelow's  "  Account  of  the  White  Mountains  of  New 
Hampshire,"  published  in  181(j,  from  explorations  made  during  the 
same  season,  determined  in  great  measure  the  phienogamous  botany 
of  our  Alps,  while  it  furnished  also  a  statement  of  all  that  was  known 
of  their  mineralogy  and  zoology.  Dr.  Francis  Boott,  Mr.  Francis  C. 
Gray,  and  the  venerable  Chief  Justice  ShaAv,  were  members  of  this 
party,  which  accomphshed,  from  barometrical  observations,  perhaps 
the  most  satisfactory  determination  of  the  height  of  Mount  Washing- 
ton that  has  been  made  ;  assigning  to  it  an  altitude  above  the  sea  of 
6226  feet.  Dr.  Boott  returned  to  the  mountains  in  the  next  month, 
(August,)  and  added  a  "  considerable  "  number  of  species  to  the 
botanical  collection.  Dr.  Bigelow  entered  the  mountains  be  the 
Eastern  Pass,  and  followed  Cutler's  River,  making  the  passage  of 
the  dwarf  firs  by  a  way  opened  a  few  years  before  by  direction 
of  Col.  Gibbs.*  The  knowledge  of  these  journeys  has  now  disai> 
peared  from  the  neighborhood,  with  the  early  inhabitants.  But  in 
1840,  all  was  still  remembered,  from  Cutler's  time,  down,  at  the 
solitary  house  of  D,  Elkins,  in  the  Pinkham  woods  ;  and  I  found  it 
easy,  in  the  company  of  the  late  Harrison  Crawford,  an  honest  man, 
and  one  who  knew  thoroughly  his  native  hills,  to  trace  again  the  old 
way  of  ascent.     In   1819,  Abel   Crawford  opened  the  footway   to 

*  Account,  &c.,  in  New  Kng.  Journal  of  Med.  atiil  Surs.  Nov.  1816. 


14  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

, Mount  Washington  which  follows  the  southwestern  ridge  from  Mount 
Clinton  ;  and  three  years  later  Ethan  Allen  Crawford,  who  had  sue 
Iceeded  to  his  grandfather  Rosebrook's  farm  in  Nash  and  Sawyer's 
>  Location,  opened  his  new  road  along  the  course  of  the  Ammonoosuck.* 
These  two  became  now  the  common  ways  of  ascending  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  Avilderness  of  the  Eastern  Pass  was  rarely  disturbed. 
Botanists  were  gainers  by  this  change,  at  least  those  whose  researches 
were  carried  on  without  camping  out.  The  southwestern  ridge  and 
Mount  Washington  together  aiford  a  better  view  of  the  whole  vege- 
tation than  is  obtainable  by  the  eastern  paths  ;  and  two  points  on  this 
ridge, — the  Lake  of  the  Clouds,  and  especially  the  ravine  called 
Oakes's  Gulf,  between  Mount  Washington  and  Mount  Monroe,  are 
peculiarly  rich  in  rare  plants  ;  the  latter  possessing  indeed  almost 
all  the  alpine  plants  of  the  mountains,  and  two  (the  Eyebright  and 
the  Rhinanthus)  which  are  found  nowhere  else  ;  and  Ethan  Craw- 
ford's road  by  the  Ammonoosuck,  passed,  as  it  struck  up  the  peak  of 
Mount  Washington,  close  by  the  hanging  gardens  of  the  Great  Gulf. 
In  1820,  Messrs.  A.  N.  Brackett  and  J.  W.  Weeks  of  Lancaster, 
with  Ethan  Crawford  as  guide,  ascended  the  southwestern  ridge  by 
the  noAV  path,  from  the  head  of  the  Notch,  and  explored  the  summits 
of  the  Avhole  range  as  far  as  Mount  Washington  ;  estimating  the 
heights  of  the  seven  highest  points  by  means  of  a  spirit  level,  and 
giving  the  names  to  these  points  which  they  have  since  borne. f  The 
interesting  account  of  this  visit  may  be  found  in  the  New  Hampshire 
Historical  Collections  for  1823.  The  patli  over  Mount  Clinton  had 
been  advertised,  and  that  folloAving  the  Ammonoosuck  had  attracted 
still  more  attention  from  its  appearing  to  promise  facilities  for  a  car- 
riage road  of  some  seven  miles  toward  Mount  Washington,  and  visit- 

1        *  E.  A.  Crawford's  Hist,  of  the  White  Mountains,  pp.  42,  49. 

t  Some  doubt  havinji  been  entertained  within  a  few  years,  as  to  wliich  is  Mount  Adams 
and  wliich  Mount  Jefferson,  and  an  error  in  the  use  of  these  names  having  even  found  its 
way  into  the  first  edition  of  Jlr.  Bond's  map, — it  was  corrected  in  the  second, — it  seems 
proper  to  copy  the  definite  lanrruage  of  Messrs.  Brackett  and  Weeks,  who  gave  the  names. 
"  ]^Iount  Adams  is  known  by  its  sharp  terminating  peak,  and  being  the  second  N.  of 
Wasliington,"  and  ".Tefl'erson  is  situated  between  these  two."  And  the  writer  heard  Col 
Brackett  say  that  this  was. just  as  his  party  understood  it. 


THE   FOUR   VALLEYS.  4£ 

ors,  aiming  mostly  at  the  ascent  of  the  summit,  began  more  frequently 
to  find  their  way  to  the  inns  of  the  west  side.  But  the  inner  soli- 
tudes of  the  mountains  were  very  seldom  entered.  Now  and  then  a 
naturalist,  or  a  lover  of  woods  and  liills,  penetrated  the  forest,  or 
climbed  the  dark  steeps  ;  or  an  angler  (not  a  man  with  a  "  fishpole  " 
hooking  trout,  but  a  hearty  admirer  of  nature  and  her  clear  brooks, 
who  catches  his  dinner  for  his  soul's  health  as  well  as  his  body's)  fol- 
lowed the  streams  ;  but  rare  enough  it  was  that  such  hills  and 
streams  could  tempt  to  more  than  a  brief  day's  delay,  Avith  all  their 
visible  glories  and  balsamic  airs. 

Many  alpine  plants,  and  it  is  what  adds  manifestly  to  their  interest, 
are  confined  to  very  small  areas.*  And  the  most  promising  botan- 
ical regions,  in  mountains  of  the  height  and  general  character,  and  in 
the  degree  of  latitude  of  ours,  are  the  secluded  and  difficult  banks  of 
alpine  rivulets  which  descend  the  steep  slopes  of  the  hidden  south- 
. eastern  ravines,  and  the  little  hanging  gardens,  sometimes  all  but 
inaccessible,  which  these  runnels  form,  on  favoring  shelves  of  rock. 
Thus  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  any  single  survey  of  the  botany 
of  the  higher  region  of  the  mountains,  however  careful,  should  do 
more  than  give  the  general  features  of  vegetation,  with  such  part 
only  of  the  special  and  exceptional  ones  as  the  good  luck  of  the  occa- 
sion might  bring  into  view.  A  considerable  number  of  peculiarly 
interesting  species  has  been  added  to  the  flora  of  the  White  Moun- 
tains since  Bigelow  first  delineated  their  botanical  geography,  and 
there  is  little  doubt  that  more  remain  to  be  found. 

Benjamin  D.  Greene,  Esq.,  collected  the  plants  of  the  southwestern 
ridge  in  1823,  and  Mr.  Henry  Little,  a  student  of  medicine,  explored 
this  part  of  the  mountains  the  same  year.  In  1825,  William  Oakes, 
Esq.,  and  Dr.  Charles  Pickering,  made,  together,  extensive  re- 
searches, adding  some  species,  new  to  the  flora,  of  much  interest ; 
and  the  former  returned,  and  continued  his  investigations,  the  follow- 

♦  "  Les  aires  fort  restreintes  sont  pins  nombreuses  que  les  aires  tr6s  vastes.  II  y  a 
beaucoup  d'espfeces  qui,  par  leur  rarct^,  sont  expos^es  a  disparaitre  de  la  scfene  do 
toonde."     A.  De  Candolle  Geogr.  Bot.  I.  p.  588. 

a 


46  THE  WHITE  nn.Ls. 

ing  year.  Dr.  J.  W.  llobbins  explored,  with  much  care,  the  whole 
range,  in  1829  ;  descending  into  and  crossing  the  Great  Gulf,  and 
traversing  for  the  first  time,  at  least  so  far  as  scientific  interests  were 
concerned,  all  the  eastern  summits ; — and  also  made  important  addi- 
tions to  the  flora  of  the  mountains  ;  while  before  this,  the  practised 
cje  of  Mr,  Nuttall  had  detected  several  species,  of  such  rarity,  that 
few  have  seen  them  since. 

But  the  longest  of  these  were  short  visits,  too  short  for  a  loving 
acquaintance  with  the  mountains,  or  a  satisfying  experience  of  their 
wealth  of  wholesome  enjoyment.  S.  A.  Bemis,  Esq.,  was  perhaps 
the  earliest  to  delay  longer,  and  return  oftener, — to  make  a  home  for 
the  time  of  the  White  Hills  ;  and  certainly  the  sunny  valley  of  Mount 
Crawford,  and  its  cheerful  views,  and  the  then  sufficient  neighboring 
streams,  might  well  attract  an  admirer  of  nature  ;  nor  has  the  attrac- 
tion yielded  yet,  after  more  than  thirty  years  ;  or  the  example  failed 
to  win  others  to  the  same  untiring  pleasures. 

The  writer  of  these  pages  first  visited  the  White  Mountains  in 
1837.  It  was  then  a  secluded  district,  the  inns  offering  only  the 
homely  cheer  of  country  fare,  and  the  paths  to  Mount  Washington 
rarely  trodden  by  any  who  did  not  prize  the  very  way,  rough  as  it 
might  be,  too  much  to  wish  for  easier  ones.  But  it  was  not  long* 
before  the  Crawfords  turned  foot-paths  into  bridle-paths,  and  in  1840, 
a  party, — it  included  Dr.  Charles  T.  Jackson,  then  occupied  in  the 
Geological  Survey  of  New  Hampshire,  who  delayed  long  enough  at 
the  mountains  to  ascertain  some  altitudes, — reached  iNIount  W^ash- 
ington  on  horseback  by  the  way  from  the  Notch.  This  introduced 
all  tlie  changes  that  have  followed,  and  the  various  appliances  of 
luxury  which  now  meet  the  visitor  to  the  White  Hills. 

Note.— From  the  Life  of  Dr.  Belknap  (N.  Y.  1847,  p.  102,)  it  appears  that  both  he,  and 
Dr.  Fisher  of  Beverly,  were  of  the  party  which  visited  the  mountains  in  1784,  though  nei- 
ther of  them  succeeded  in  reaching  the  summit.  "  Dr.  Fisher,"  we  are  further  told, 
"  was  left  behind  .at  the  Notch,  to  collect  birds,  and  other  animal  and  vegetable  prcluc- 
tions."  There  were  seven  persons  in  all  in  the  party,  which,  we  can  well  believe,  was 
•he  subject  of  much  speculation,"  as  it  passed  through  Eaton  and  Conway. 


LAKE  WINNIPISEOGEE 


"  In  those  happy  spots  of  nature  where  land  and  water,  above  and  below,  combine  their 
chat^is,  it  is  hard  to  tell  whether  the  stony  ujjland  height,  or  the  liquid  deep  beneath,  most  lures 
the  sight.  I  believe  it  was  Goethe  who  Jirst  said  that  lakes  are  the  eyes  of  the  landscapes ;  ana 
if  there  be  reason  for  such  a  fgure,  it  is  not  strange  such  features  in  the  countenance  of  the 
world  should  fx  our  regai-d.  Certainly  they  add  to  that  countenance  the  same  sai-t  of  bright- 
ness and  animation  which  the  organs  of  vision  give  to  the  human  face ;  and  as  our  glance, 
perusing  the  living  traits  of  a  man,  is  never  satisfied  till  it  reaches  his  eye,  so  on  the  earth,  we 
seek  after  water,  and  are  not  quite  content  till  our  attention,  long  vagrant,  rests  upon  it." 


SUMMER  BY  THE  LAKE-SIDE 


NOON. 


White  clouds,  whose  shadows  haunt  the  deep, 
Light  mists,  whose  soft  embraces  keep 
The  sunshine  on  tlie  hills  asleep! 

O,  isles  of  calm  !  —  0,  dark,  still  wood ! 
And  stiller  skies  that  overbrood 
Your  rest  with  deeper  quietude ! 

0,  shapes  and  hues,  dim  beckoning,  through 
Yon  mountain  gaps,  mj'  longing  view 
Beyond  the  purple  and  the  blue. 

To  stiller  sea  and  greener  land. 

And  softer  lights  ;ind  airs  more  bland, 

And  skies  —the  hollow  of  God's  hand! 

Transfused  through  you,  0  mountain  friends. 
With  mine  your  solemn  spirit  blends, 
And  life  no  more  hath  separate  ends. 

I  read  each  misty  mountain  sign, 
I  know  the  voice  of  wave  and  pine. 
And  1  am  yours,  and  ye  are  mine. 

Life's  burdens  fall,  its  discords  cease, 

I  lapse  into  the  glad  release 

Of  Nature's  own  exceeding  peace. 

<),  welcome  calm  of  heart  and  mind. 
As  falls  yon  fir'tree's  loosened  rind 
To  leave  a  tenderer  growth  behind. 


50  THE   AVIIITE    HILLS. 

So  fall  the  weary  years  away; 
A  child  agahi,  my  head  1  h»y 
Upon  the  lap  of  this  sweet  day. 

This  western  wind  hath  Lethean  powers, 
Von  noon-day  cloud  Nepenthe  showers, 
The  lake  is  white  with  lotus-flowers! 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE. 

Does  this  word  mean  "  The  Smile  of  the  Great  Spirit,"  or  "  Pleas- 
ant Water  in  a  High  Place  ? "  There  has  been  a  dispute,  we 
believe,  among  the  learned  in  Indian  lore,  as  to  the  true  rendering. 
Whatever  the  word  means,  the  lake  itself  signifies  both.  Topograph- 
ically, under  the  surveyor's  eye  and  the  mill-OAniers'  estimates,  it  is 
pleasant  water  in  a  high  place  ;  about  thirty  milos  long,  and  varying 
from  one  to  seven  miles  in  breadth  ;  with'  railroad  stations  on  its 
shores  at  Alton  Bay  and  Weir's  ;  and  a  little  more  than  a  hundred 
miles  distant  from  Boston.  To  the  poet  whose  exquisite  verses  we 
have  chosen  as  a  prelude  to  this  chapter,  and  to  all  who  have  an  eye 
anointed  Uke  his,  it  is  the  smile  of  the  Great  Spirit. 

It  is  easy  to  give  a  general  description  of  the  character  of  the 
shores  of  Winnipiseogee,  to  count  its  islands,  and  to  enumerate  the 
mountain  ranges  and  peaks,  with  their  names  and  height,  that  sur- 
round it.  But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  convey  any  impression,  by  words, 
of  the  peculiar  loveliness  that  invests  it,  and  which  lifts  it  above  the 
rank  of  a  prosaic  reservoir  in  Belknap  and  Carrol  counties  in  New 
Hampshire,  about  five  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  into  an  expression 
of  the  Divine  art  renewed  every  summer  by  the  Creator.  There  is 
very  little  cultivation  around  the  borders  of  Winnipiseogee.  The 
surroundings  are  scarcely  less  wild  than  they  were,  when,  in  1652, 
Captains  Edward  Johnson  and  Simon  Willard  carved  their  initials, 
which  are  still  visible,  on  the    "  Endicott  Rock,"  near  its  outlet. 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  61 

The  straggling  parties  of  Indians  who  pass  hj  it  now,  on  their  way 
to  trade  with  the  visitors  at  the  Flume  House  in  Franconia,  see  it 
but  little  more  civilized  in  expression  than  their  forefathers  did,  whose 
wigwams,  before  Massachusetts  felt  the  white  man's  foot,  spotted  the 
meadows  of  the  Merrimac  below. 

Where  the  old  smoked  in  silence  their  pipes,  and  the  young 
To  the  pike  and  the  white  perch  their  baited  lines  flung; 
•  Where  the  boy  shaped  his  arrows,  and  where  the  shy  maid 

Wove  her  many-hued  baskets  and  bright  wampum  braid. 

And  yet  it  is  not  a  sense  of  seclusion  amid  the  forests,  of  being  shut 
in  by  untamed  hills  amid  the  heart  of  the  wilderness,  that  Winni- 
piseogee  inspires.  Indeed,  the  lake  is  not  shut  in  by  any  abrupt 
mountain  walls.  Its  islands  and  shores  fringe  the  Avater  with  winding 
lines  and  long,  low,  narrow  capes  of  green.  But  the  mountains  retreat 
gradually  back  from  them,  with  large  spaces  of  cheerful  light,  or 
vistas  of  more  gently  sloping  land,  between.  The  whole  impression 
is  not  of  wild,  but  of  cheerful  and  symmetrical  beauty. 

Artists  generally,  we  believe,  find  better  studies  on  Lake  George. 
It  may  be  that  there  is  more  of  manageable  picturesqueness  in  the 
combination  of  its  coves  and  cliffs ;  but  we  think  that,  for  larger  pro- 
portioned landscape — to  be  enjoyed  by  the  eye,  if  it  cannot  be  easily 
handled  by  the  pencil  or  brush — Winnipiseogee  is  immeasurably 
superior.  We  cannot  imagine  a  person  tiring,  through  a  whole  sum- 
mer, of  its  artistic  and  infinite  variety.  While  it  could  hardly  be  that 
the  eye,  in  the  daily  and  familiar  acquaintance  of  a  whole  season 
with  Lake  George,  would  not  feel  the  need  of  wider  reaches  in  the 
mountain  views,  richer  combinations  of  the  forest  wildness  with  re- 
treating slopes  and  cones  bathed  in  "  the  tenderest  purple  of  dis- 
tance," and  with  glimpses,  now  and  then,  such  as  the  New  Hampshire 
lake  furnishes,  of  sovereign  summits  that  heave  upon  the  horizon  their 
vague,  firm  films. 

Mr.  Everett  said,  a  few  years  since,  in  a  speech,  that  Switzerland 
has  no  lovelier  view  for  the  tourist  than  the  lake  we  are  speaking  of 
affords.     And  Rev.  Mr.  Bartol,  of  Boston,  in  his  charming  volume, 


52  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

"  Pictures  of  Europe,"  tells  us  :  "  There  may  be  lakes  in  Tyrol  arid 
Switzerland,  wliich,  in  particular  respects,  exceed  the  charms  of  any 
ua  the  Western  world.  But  in  that  wedding  of  the  land  with  the 
water,  in  which  one  is  perpetually  approaching  and  retreating  from 
the  other,  and  each  transforms  itself  into  a  thousand  jfigures  for  an 
endless  dance  of  grace  and  beauty,  till  a  countless  multitude  of 
shapes  are  arranged  into  perfect  ease  and  freedom,  of  almost  musical 
motion,  nothing  can  be  beheld  to  surpass,  if  to  match,  our  Winnie 
piseogee."  It  is,  of  course,  in  moving  over  the  lake,  on  a  steamer 
or  in  a  boat,  that  this  "  musical  motion  "  of  the  shores  is  caught. 

We  will  abide  the  judgment  of  any  tourist  as  to  the  extravagance 
of  this  quotation,  if  he  has  an  eye  competent  to  look  through  the  land 
to  landscape,  and  becomes  acquainted  with  the  lake  from  the  deck  of 
a  steamer,  on  an  auspicious  summer  day.  The  sky  is  clear ;  there 
are  just  clouds  enough  to  relieve  the  soft  blue  and  fleck  the  sentinel 
hills  with  shadow  ;  and  over  the  wide  panorama  of  distant  mountains, 
a  warm,  dreamy  haze  settles,  tinging  them,  as  Emerson  says  the 
south  wind,  in  May-days, 

Tints  the  human  countenance  ^ 

With  a  color  of  romance. 

Perhaps  there  is  at  first  a  faint  breeze,  just  enough  to  fret  the  water, 
and  roughen  or  mezzotint  the  reflections  of  the  shores.  But  as  we 
shoot  out  into  the  breadth  of  the  lake,  and  take  in  the  wide  scene, 
there  is  no  ripple  on  its  bosom.  The  little  islands  float  over  hquid 
silver,  and  glide  by  each  other  silently,  as  in  the  movements  of  a 
dance,  while  our  boat  changes  her  heading.  And  all  around,  the 
mountains,  sweUing  softly,  or  cutting  the  sky  with  jagged  lines  of 
steely  blue,  vie  with  the  molten  mirror  at  our  feet  for  the  privilege 
of  holding  the  eye.  The  "  sun-sparks  "  blaze  thick  as  stars  upon  the 
glassy  wrinkles  of  the  water.  Leaning  over  the  side  of  the  steamer, 
gazing  at  the  exquisite  curves  of  the  water  just  outside  the  foamy 
splash  of  the  Avheels,  watching  the  countless  threads  of  silver  that 
stream  out  from  the  shadow  of  the  wheel-house,  seeing  the  steady 


LAKE    WINNIPISEOGEE. 


53 


iris  float  with  us  to  adorn  our  flying  spray,  and  then  looking  up  to 
the  broken  sides  of  the  Ossipee  mountains  that  are  rooted  in  the  hike, 
over  which  huge  shadows  loiter  ;  or  back  to  the  twin  Belknap  hills, 
that  appeal  to  softer  sensibilities  with  their  verdured  symmetr}'- ;  or, 


further  down,  upon  the  charming  succession  of  mounds  that  hem  the 
shores  near  Wolfboro' ;  or  northward,  where  distant  Chocorua  lifts 
his  bleached  head,  so  tenderly  touched  now  with  gray  and  gold,  to 
defy  the  hottest  sunlight,  as  he  has  defied  for  ages  the  lightning  and 
storm  ; — does  it  not  seem  as  though  the  passage  of  the  Psalms  is 
fulfilled  before  our  eyes, — "  Out  of  the  perfection  of  beauty  God 
oath  sliined  ?  "     -^ 

The  lines  of  the  Sandwich  Mountains,  on  the  northwest,  of  which 
the  lonely  Chocorua,  who  seems  to  have  pushed  his  fellows  away  from 

10 


51  TllK    WHITE    HILLS. 

liim,  is  tlie  most  northerly  summit,  arc  the  most  striking  features  of 
the  borders  of  the  lake.  An  American  artist  who  had  lived  many 
ycais  in  Italy,  on  a  recent  visit  to  this  country,  -went  to  Winnipiseo- 
gce  with  the  writer  of  these  pages.  He  was  greatly  impressed  and 
charmed  with  the  outlines  of  this  range,  which  is  seen  at  once  from 
the  boat  as  she  leaves  Weir's  landing.  He  had  not  supposed  that 
any  water  view  in  New  England  was  bordered  with  such  a  mountain 
frame.  And  before  the  steamer  had  shot  out  from  the  bay  upon  the 
bosom  of  the  lake,  he  had  transferred  to  his  sketch-book  its  long 
combination  of  domes  and  heavy  scrolls  and  solid  Avails,  all  leading 
to  a  pyramid  that  supports  a  peak  desolate  and  sheer. 

The  most  striking  picture,  perhaps,  to  be  seen  on  the  lake,  is  a 
view  which  is  given  of  the  Sandwich  range  in  going  from  Weir's  to 
Centre  Harbor,  as  the  steamer  shoots  across  a  little  bay,  after  pass- 
ing Bear  Island,  about  four  miles  from  the  latter  village.  The  whole 
chain  is  seen  several  miles  away,  as  you  look  up  the  bay,  betAveen 
lied  Hill  on  the  left,  and  the  Ossipee  mountains  on  the  right.  If 
there  is  no  wind,  and  if  there  are  shadoAvs  enough  from  clouds  to 
spot  the  range,  the  beauty  Avill  seem  Aveird  and  unsubstantial, — as 
though  it  might  fade  away  the  next  minute.  The  Aveight  seems  to 
be  taken  out  of  the  mountains.     We  might  almost  say 

They  are  but  sailing  foam-ljells 

Alons;  Tlionglit's  causing  stream, 
And  take  tlieir  shape  and  sun-color 

From  him  that  sends  the  dream. 

Only  they  do  not  sail,  they  repose.  The  quiet  of  the  Avater  and  the 
sleep  of  the  hills  seem  to  have  the  quality  of  still  ecstasy.  It  is  only 
inland  Avater  that  can  suggest  and  inspire  such  rest.  The  sea  itself, 
though  it  can  be  clear,  is  never  calm,  in  the  sense  that  a  mountain 
lake  can  be  calm.  The  sea  seems  only  to  pause  ;  the  mountain  lake 
to  sleep  and  to  dream. 

But  there  is  one  vicAV  Avhich,  though  far  less  lovely,  is  more  excit- 
ing to  one  Avho  has  been  a  frecpient  visitor  of  the  mountains.  It  is 
where  Mount  Washington  is  visible  from  a  portion  of  the  steamer's 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  66 

track,  for  some  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes.  Passing  by  the  westerly 
declivity  of  the  Ossipee  ridge,  looking  across  a  low  slope  of  the  Sand- 
wich range  and  far  back  of  them,  a  dazzling  white  spot  perhaps — if 
it  is  very  early  in  the  summer — gleams  on  the  northern  horizon. 
Gradually  it  mounts  and  mounts,  and  then  runs  down  again  as  sud- 
denly, making  us  wonder,  possibly,  what  it  can  be.  A  minute  or 
two  more,  and  the  unmistakable  majesty  of  Washington  is  revealed. 
Tliere  he  rises,  forty  miles  away,  towering  from  a  plateau  built  for 
his  throne,  dim  green  in  the  distance,  except  the  dome  that  is 
crowned  with  winter,  and  the  strange  figures  that  are  scrawled 
around  his  waist  in  snow. 

Why  should  all  the  nearer  splendors  aifect  an  old  visitor  of  the 
hills  less  than  that  spectacle  ?  Why  should  Whiteface,  which  seems, 
at  a  careless  glance,  much  higher  by  its  nearness,  or  the  haughty 
Chocorua,  move  less  joyous  emotions  than  that  tinted  etching  on  the 
northern  sky  ?  Why  will  not  a  cloud  thrice  as  lofty  and  distinct  in 
its  outline,  suggest  such  power  and  waken  such  enthusiasm  ?  Is 
there  a  physical  cause  for  it  ?  Is  it  that  the  volcanic  power  ex- 
pended in  upheaving  one  of  the  supreme  summits, 

when  with  inward  fires  arJ  pain 
It  rose  a  bubble  from  tlie  plain, 

is  permanently  funded  there,  and  is  suggested  to  the  mind  whenever 
we  see  even  the  outlines  in  the  distant  air, — thus  making  it  repre- 
sent more  vitality  and  force  than  any  pile  of  thunderous  vapor  can  ? 
Or  is  it  explained  by  the  law  of  association, — because  we  know,  in 
looking  at  those  faint  forms,  that  their  crests  have  no  rivals  in  our 
northern  latitude  this  side  the  Rocky  Mountains, — that  the  pencilled 
shadows  of  their  foreground  are  the  deepest  gorges  which  landslides 
have  channelled  and  torrents  have  worn  in  New  England, — and  that 
from  their  crown  a  wider  area  is  measured  by  the  eye,  than  can  be 
seen  this  side  the  Mississippi  ? 

How  admirably  and  tenderly  Mr.  Ruskin  has  touched  this  point  in 
a  passage,  v/hich  our  readers  Avill  thank  us  that  we  quote  for  them, 

10* 


56  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

from  the  third  volume  of  "  The  Modern  Painters  :  "  "  Examine  the 
nature  of  your  own  emotion  (if  you  feel  it)  at  the  sight  of  an  Alp- 
and  you  find  all  the  brightness  of  that  emotion  hanging,  like  dew  on 
gossamer,  on  a  curious  web  of  subtle  fancy  and  imperfect  knowledge. 
First,  you  have  a  vague  idea  of  its  size,  coupled  with  Avonder  at  the 
work  of  the  great  Builder  of  its  walls  and  foundations  ;  then  an  appre, 
hension  of  its  eternity,  a  pathetic  sense  of  its  perpetualness,  and  your 
own  transientness,  as  of  the  grass  upon  its  sides  ;  then,  and  in  this 
very  sadness,  a  sense  of  strange  companionship  with  past  generations 
in  seeing  Avhat  they  saAV.  They  did  not  see  the  clouds  that  are  float- 
ing over  your  head  ;  nor  the  cottage  wall  on  the  other  side  of  the 
field  ;  nor  the  road  by  Avhich  you  are  travelling.  But  they  saAV  that. 
The  wall  of  granite  in  the  heavens  Avas  the  same  to  them  as  to  you. 
They  have  ceased  to  look  upon  it ;  you  will  soon  cease  to  look  also, 
and  the  granite  wall  Avill  be  for  others.  Then,  mingled  with  these 
more  solemn  imaginations,  come  the  understandings  of  the  gifts  and 
glories  of  the  Alps,  the  fancying  forth  of  all  the  fountains  that  Avell 
from  its  rocky  Avails,  and  strong  rivers  that  are  born  out  of  its  ice, 
and  of  all  the  pleasant  valleys  that  Avind  betw^een  its  cliffs,  and  all  the 
chalets  that  gleam  among  its  clouds,  and  happy  farmsteads  couched 
upon  its  pastures  ;  Avhile  together  Avith  the  thoughts  of  these  rise 
strange  sympathies  Avith  all  the  unknoAvn  of  human  life  and  happiness, 
and  death,  signified  by  that  narroAV  white  flame  of  the  everlasting 
snow,  seen  so  far  in  the  morning  sky. 

These  images,  and  far  more  than  these,  lie  at  the  root  of  the  emo- 
tion Avhich  you  feel  at  the  sight  of  the  Alp.  You  may  not  trace 
them  in  your  heart,  for  there  is  a  great  deal  more  in  your  heart,  of 
evil  and  good,  than  you  ever  can  trace  ;  but  they  stir  you  and 
quicken  you  for  all  that.  Assuredly,  so  far  as  you  feel  more  at  be- 
holding the  snoAvy  mountain  than  any  other  object  of  the  same  sweet 
silvery  gray,  these  are  the  kind  of  images  which  cause  you  to  do  so ; 
and,  observe,  these  are  nothing  more  than  a  greater  apprehension  of 
^Q  facts  of  the  thing.  We  call  the  power  'Imagination,'  because  it 
imagines  or  conceiA'es  ;  but  it  is  only  noble  imagination  if  it  imagines 
or  conceives  the  truthJ' 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  57 

And  from  the  hint  of  these  last  words,  let  us  have  a  little  talk  Avith 
our  readers  concerning  enthusiasm  in  seeing  such  scenery  as  the 
Lake  furnishes  in  charming  days.  Sometimes,  people  go  into  New 
Hampshire  with  such  apathetic  eyes,  that  they  have  no  relish  for 
richness  of  landscape,  or  for  mountain  grandeur.  There  is  no  smack 
in  their  seeing.  And  there  are  others,  who,  if  they  are  not  disap- 
pointed in  the  outlines,  the  heights,  and  the  colors  that  are  shoAvn  to 
them,  still  think  it  vulgar  to  show  enthusiasm.  Any  glee,  or  clap- 
ping of  the  hands,  or  hot  superlative,  is  almost  as  heinous  to  them  as 
a  violation  of  the  moral  law.  Just  as  some  women  think  health  vul- 
gar, and  cultivate  languor,  there  are  persons  who  repress  real  feeling, 
and  assume  the  hlaae  mood  as  a  matter  of  gentility  or  manners. 

The  foundation  of  this  feeling  it  is  not  easy  to  understand.  A 
visit  to  Lake  Winnipiseogee,  a  journey  to  the  mountains,  if  we  have 
been  hemmed  within  city  walls,  or  chained  to  a  prosaic  landscape, 
most  of  the  year,  ought  to  be  made  a  vacation  season,  a  jubilee  for 
the  eye,  which  was  formed  for  free  range  of  the  splendors  which  the 
Creator  has  scattered  over  space.  The  eye  is  the  chief  physical 
sign  of  the  royalty  of  man  on  the  globe.  Our  hands  stretch  but  a 
few  feet  from  our  bodies  ;  hearing  reaches  comparatively  but  a  little 
way  ;  but  the  sense  of  sight  relates  us  consciously  to  the  unbounded. 
The  beast  has  no  perception  of  the  breadth  and  depth  of  space.  His 
eye  is  a  definite  faculty,  bound  to  bodily  service,  like  a  finger,  a 
wing,  or  a  claw.  But  think  of  the  reaches  of  distance  through  which 
the  eye  of  man  is  able  to  soar ;  think  of  the  delicate  tintings  it  can 
distinguish  and  enjoy ;  think  of  the  sublime  breadth  and  roofing  it 
supplies  to  our  apparently  insignificant  existence, — reaching  as  it 
does  to  the  Pleiades  and  the  Milky  Way  and  the  cloud-light  in  the 
belt  of  Orion  ! 

To  learn  to  see  is  one  of  the  chief  objects  of  education  and  life. 
First  as  infants  we  learn  to  push  the  world  off  from  ourselves,  and  to 
disentangle  ourselves  as  personalities  from  a  mesh  of  sensations. 
Then  we  gain  power  to  detect  and  measure  distance  ;  then  to  per- 
ceive forms  and  colors  ;  and  at  last  to  relate  objects  quickly  and 


58  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

properly  to  each  ether  bj  a  sweep  of  the  eye.  And  this  process  is 
crowned  by  the  poetic  perception  of  general  beauty,  in  Avhich  our 
humanity  flowers  out,  and  by  which  we  obtain  possession  of  the 
world.  '•  The  charming  landscape  which  I  saw  this  morning  is  indu- 
bitably made  up  of  some  twenty  or  thirty  farms.  Miller  owns  this 
field,  Locke  that,  and  Manning  the  woodland  beyond.  But  none  of 
them  owns  the  landscape.  There  is  a  property  in  the  horizon  which 
no  man  has  but  he  whose  eye  can  integrate  all  the  parts,  that  is,  the 
poet.  This  is  the  best  part  of  these  men's  farms,  yet  to  this  their 
warranty-deeds  give  no  title."  The  general  beauty  of  the  w^orld  is  a 
perpetual  revelation,  and  if  we  are  impervious  to  its  appeal  and 
charm,  a  large  district  of  our  nature  is  curtained  off  from  the  Cre- 
ator, "  and  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out." 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  we  become  educated  to  see,  and  just  in 
proportion  to  our  skill  in  seeing,  we  get  joy.  The  surprise  to  the 
senses  in  first  looking  upon  a  noble  landscape,  ought  to  show  itself 
in  childlike  animation.  The  truly  cultivated  perception  is  chieflj 
conditioned  by  the  recovery  of  the  innocence  of  the  eye.  Forms  and 
colors  look  as  fresh  to  the  truly  trained  intellect,  as  they  do  to  the 
uncritical  sense  of  the  little  child  that  chases  its  golden-winged  but- 
terfly without  any  competence  to  measure  the  horizon,  or  any  feeling 
that  it  is  pursuing  its  fluttering  enticement  unroofed  in  immensity. 
Mr.  Ruskin  tells  us,  in  his  work  on  the  Elements  of  Drawing,  that 
every  highly  accomplished  artist  has  reduced  himself,  in  dealing  with 
the  colors  of  a  landscape,  as  nearly  as  possible  to  the  condition  of 
infantine  sight.  So  that  perpetual  surprise  and  enthusiasm  are  signs 
of  healthy  and  tutored  taste. 

And  let  us  not  forget  that  the  charm  which  the  person  discerns 
who  feels  rapture  amid  such  scenes  as  Winnipiseogee  ofiers,  is  not 
illusive.  It  is  founded  on  fact.  The  man  who  sees  the  most  beauty 
in  that  landscape,  deals  with  the  facts  as  demonstrably  as  if  he  were 
engaged  all  day  in  dipping  buckets  of  water  from  its  treasury,  or 
shovelling  sand  and  felling  birches  on  its  shores.  Agassiz  finds  mar- 
vel enough  for  a  month's  study,  and  for  unbounded  admiration,  in  a 


LAKE    WINNIPISEOGEE.  5y 

single  grasshopper  from  a  field  on  one  of  its  islands.  Jackson  sees 
quarries  of  truth  in  the  direction  and  dip  of  tlie  mountain  chains  that 
border  the  Lake,  where  a  common  eye  detects  nothing  but  blank 
bareness  of  ledge,  or  a  slope  of  ordinary  forest  at  a  certain  angle. 
Mantell  might  unfold  from  a  pebble  stone  at  the  foot  of  Ossipee  the 
history  of  the  globe  for  a  hundred  thousand  years.  And  just  as 
these  men  deal  with  facts  more  thoroughly  than  the  purblind  vision 
which  overlooks  these  wonders,  so  the  artistic  eye  deals  more  faith- 
fully with  facts,  and  with  more  facts,  too,  when  it  delights  in  the 
beautiful  curves  and  Avindings  and  fringes  of  the  lakes,  islands,  and 
shores,  enjoys  the  shape  into  which  the  substance  of  Chocorua  is 
sculptured,  and  finds  the  breezy  or  the  sleeping  water  of  the  Lake,  a 
fountain-head  of  joy  for  a  tired  mind  and  a  Aviltcd  frame.  A  man 
that  is  insensible  to  beauty,  is  blind  to  facts.  Goethe  tells  us  that 
he  once  had  a  present  of  a  basket  of  fruit,  and  was  in  such  raptures 
at  the  sight  of  the  loveliness  of  form  and  hue  which  it  presented,  that 
he  could  not  persuade  himself  "  to  pluck  off  a  single  berry  or  to 
remove  a  single  peach  or  fig."  Were  not  the  bloom  and  the  symme- 
try as  truly  facts,  as  the  weight  and  juices  of  the  products  which  the 
basket  held  ?  If  half  a  dozen  pictures  could  be  seen  in  an  Art  gal- 
lery of  New  York  or  Boston,  with  perspective  as  accurate,  with  tints 
as  tender,  with  hues  as  vivid  and  modest,  with  reflections  as  cun- 
ningly caught,  with  mountain-slopes  as  delicately  pencilled,  as  the 
Lake  exhibits  in  reality,  fifty  times  in  the  summer  weeks,  what  pride 
there  would  be  in  the  artistic  ability  in  the  country,  and  what  inter- 
est and  joy  in  seeing  such  masterpieces  from  mortal  hands  !  A  great 
many,  no  doubt,  would  be  willing  to  spend  profusely,  to  own  one  oi 
two  such  pictures,  colored  on  less  than  a  dozen  square  feet  of  canvas, 
who  do  not  estimate  very  highly  the  ]jrivilege  of  looking  upon  the 
real  water-colors  of  the  Creator,  of  which  every  triumph  of  a  human 
artist  is  only  an  illusion. 

Great  eloquence  we  cannot  get  excej^t  from  human  genius.  -There 
IS  nothing  in  external  nature  that  supplies  its  place.  The  music  of  a 
symphony  by  an  orchestra  is  an  achievement  that  cannot  bo  dimmed 


bO  TiiK  wiirrK  ini>LS. 

by  a  compaiison  Avith  any  luelodies  and  harmonies  of  air  and  woods 
and  sea.  Statuary  may  be  perfect,  and  is  not  compensated  by  the 
ordinary  aspects  of  human  life.  Arcliitccture  is  a  creation  of  the 
human  intellect,  addin*^  to  the  stores  of  beauty  in  the  -world.  But 
pictorial  landscape  is  exceptional  among  the  arts  hi  this,  that  it  is  an 
inadequate  transcript  of  -what  God  is  creating  every  day.  A  cultured 
and  reverent  eye  can  have  tor  nothing  the  originals,  freshly  laid  on  the 
canvas  of  matter,  in  a  beauty  that  cannot  be  adequately  translated. 

And  then  think  what  it  cost  to  arrange  a  landscape  which  we  can 
see  from  the  little  steamer,  as  she  rides  from  \Veir"s  to  Centre  Hai 
bor  !  Think  of  the  mad  upheavals  of  boiling  rock,  to  cool  and  harden 
in  the  air  ;  think  of  the  centuries  of  channelling  hy  torrents  and  frost 
to  give  their  nervous  edge  to  distant  ridges  and  crests  ;  tliink  what 
patient  opulence  of  creative  power  wrapped  their  sides  with  thickets, 
that  grow  out  of  the  mould  of  pre-adamite  moss  and  fern,  and  spotted 
their  walls  with  weather  stains  in  which  the  tempests  of  ten  thousand 
years  ago  took  part.  Consider,  too,  the  exquisite  balancing  of  widely 
sundered  forces,  represented  in  the  clouds  that  sail  over  tliat  Sand- 
wich chaui  and  cool  their  cones  with  shadow,  or  in  the  mists  that 
sometimes  creep  up  their  slopes  and  twine  around  their  brows,  or  in 
the  streams,  those  grandchildren  of  the  ocean,  that  revel  in  their 
ravines.  Bear  in  mind  what  delicate  skill  is  exhibited  in  the  mix- 
ture of  the  air  through  whose  translucent  sea  we  catch  their  mottled 
charm,  and  how  the  huge  earth  spins  on  its  axis  Avithout  noise  or  jar 
to  irive  the  ever  shifting  hues  that  bathe  them  from  golden  dawn  to 
purple  evening.  And  now,  when  we  remember  that  all  this  is  only 
the  commencement  of  an  enumeration  of  the  forces  that  combine  in 
producing  a  landscape,  is  a  little  visible  exultation  anything  more 
than  an  honest  expression  of  the  privilege  a  mortal  is  endowed  with, 
in  being  introduced  to  the  Creators  art  ? 

Lot  us  remember  that  pure  delight  in  natural  scenes  themselves, 
is  the  crown  of  all  artistic  power  or  appreciation.  And  when  a  man 
loses  enthusiasm, — when  there  is  no  surprise  in  the  gush  of  evening 
pomp  out  of  the  west, — wdien  the  miracle  of  beauty  has  become 


LAKE   WINNinSEOGKE.  61 

commonplace, — when  the  world  has  become  withered  and  soggy  to 
his  eye,  so  that,  instead  of  finding  its  countenance  "  fresh  as  on  cre- 
ation's day,"  he  looks  at  each  lovely  object  and  scene,  and,  like  the 
travelling  Englishman,  oppressed  with  ennui,  finds  "  nothing  in  it," 
— it  is  about  time  for  him  to  be  transplanted  to  some  other  planet. 
Why  not  to  the  moon  ?  No  Winnipiseogee  is  there.  There  are 
mountains  enough,  but  they  show  no  azure  and  no  gold.  There  are 
pits  enough,  but  there  is  no  Avatcr  in  them  ;  no  clouds  hover  over 
them  ;  no  air  and  moisture  diffuses  and  varies  the  light.  It  is  a 
planet  of  bare  facts,  without  the  frescos  and  garniture  of  beauty,  a 
mere  skeleton  globe,  and  so  perhaps  is  the  Botany  Bay  for  spirits 
that  have  become  torpid  and  blase. 

The  points  of  rest  on  the  borders  of  the  lake  are,  as  we  have 
already  stated.  Centre  Harbor  and  Wolfboro'.  Steamers  ply  to  and 
from  these  points,  from  the  railroad  stations  at  Alton  Bay  and  Weir's, 
several  times  in  the  day.  Thus,  when  the  weather  is  pleasant,  per- 
sons may  pass  the  larger  part  of  the  day  on  the  lake,  and  may  take 
their  meals  on  the  boat  if  they  choose.  From  Wolfboro'  there  are 
many  pleasant  drives  in  which  the  lake  is  brought  into  the  landscape. 
Copple  Crown  mountain,  not  difficult  of  ascent,  and  about  five  miles 
from  the  hotel,  furnishes  one  of  the  best  general  views  of  the  lake, 
and  shows,  besides  the  hills  in  which  it  is  set,  some  thirty  other 
sheets  of  water,  large  and  small,  that  enliven  the  outskirts  of  the 
great  mountain  district  in  New  Hampshire  and  Maine. 

The  steamer  stays  over  night  at  Wolfboro',  and  not  unfrequently 
an  excursion  is  made  to  see  the  lake  by  moonlight.  What  can  be 
more  charming  than,  at  the  close  of  one  of  the  long  days  of  June,  to 
Bee  the  full  moon  rise  over  the  lower  end  of  the  lake  just  before  the 
sun  goes  down  ?  When  the  evening  is  fair  and  the  water  still,  the 
glimmer  of  its  brassy  disk,  just  clearing  the  narrow  belt  of  haze  be- 
hind the  mountains,  may  be  seen  in  the  long  mellow  Avake  that  seems 
to  sound  the  depths  of  the  roseate  or  pale  blue  water,  Avhile  the  day 
yet  glows  along  the  gray  hill  slopes,  and  is  brightening  the  youn^ 


62  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

green  of  the  tree -tops  with  touches  of  gold.  Then  when  the  sunhght 
is  withdrawn,  and  the  evening  zephyrs  have  folded  their  wings,  what 
delight  to  see  the  moon  brighten,  to  notice  how  the  mountains  grad- 
ually flatten  as  the  color  is  drained  from  them,  to  watch  the  islands 
with  their  marshalled  rows  of  tall  pines  seem  to  stir  as  we  pass  them, 
as  the  light  shimmers  upon  the  water  around  their  dark  forms,  and 
soon  to  see  the  lengthened  image  of  the  moon  become  a  straight  up 
right  column  of  gold  hanging  in  the  sapphire  deep  ! 

Do  not  say,  oh  reader,  that  it  is  "  all  moonshine  "  if  we  assure 
you  that  there  is  a  great  difference,  in  moonlight.  No  place  bettei 
for  testing  it  than  Wolfboro'.  Science  has  analyzed  the  sun-rays, 
and  has  shown  that  the  proportions  of  their  elements  vary  in  the  four 
seasons,  according  to  the  changing  necessities  of  vegetation.  A 
spirit  delicate  enough  for  lunar  photography,  no  doubt,  could  tell  the 
month  of  the  year  by  the  quality  of  its  moonlight,  and  be  able  also  to 
individualize  each  evening  of  its  dispensation,  from  the  gentle  radi- 
ance of  what  a  child  calls  the  baby  moon  to  the  ample  flood  of  its 
maturity.  Make  half  a  dozen  excursions  on  the  lake  at  night,  and 
see  if,  with  different  winds  and  temperatures,  you  find  the  moonlight 
twice  alike.  Notice  how  sometimes  it  is  thin,  bluish,  and  chilly,  as 
if  it  had  been  skimmed  in  the  upper  ether  before  reaching  our  air. 
Sometimes  you  find  it  deathly  white.  Bogles  and  spectres  seem  to 
pervade  it.  It  appears  to  be  the  ghost  of  sunshine,  shed  upon  the 
earth  from  a  dead  world.  Again  jon  will  find  it  pouring  a  weird  hue 
and  influence,  suggesting  fairies  and  frolicsome  fays.  It  is  the  ele- 
ment then  of  Ariels  and  Peasblossoms,  the  woof  of  inexhaustible  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dreams.  Then  as  we  pass  the  slope  of  one  of  the 
cultivated  islands  in  the  lake, 

Tlie  velvet  grass  seems  carpet  meet 

For  the  light  fairies'  lively  feet; 

Yon  tufted  knoll  with  daisies  strewn 

Might  make  proud  Oberon  a  throne, 

While,  hidden  in  the  thicket  nigh, 

Puck  should  brooj^l  o'er  his  frolic  slj'; 

And  where  profuse  the  wood-vetch  clings  / 

Round  ash  and  elm  in  verdant  rings, 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  6J5 

Its  pale  and  azure-pencilled  flower 
Siiould  canopy  Titania's  bower 

But  what  a  rare  joy  when,  in  some  warm  summer  evening,  we  can  sail 
on  the  lake  while  the  moon  is  full  in  a  double  sense,  and  seems  to 
pour  out  in  larger  liberality  than  usual  from  its  fountains !  Its 
beams  do  not  rain  in  silver  streams,  but  gush,  as  it  were,  from  all  the  < 
veins  of  the  air.  Every  globule  of  the  atmosphere  exudes  unctuous 
light.  And  its  color  is  so  charming — a  delicate  luminous  cream  ! 
One  can  hardly  help  believing  that  Gunstock  and  Ossipee  enjoy  their 
anointing,  after  the  withering  heat  of  the  day,  with  such  cool  and 
tender  lustre.  And  how  still  the  lake  lies,  to  have  its  surface  bur- 
nished by  it  into  liquid  acres  of  a  faint  golden  splendor ! 

From  Centre  Harbor,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  Lake,  the  drives 
are  very  attractive.  The  guide-books  report  them  in  detail.  We 
have  room  to  call  attention  only  to  the  excursion  "which  is  most  inter- 
esting, that  is,  to  the  summit  of  "  Red  Hill,"  which  rises  about  five 
miles  away,  and  stands  about  two  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  Near 
the  top  of  the  mountain,  Avhere  its  ledges  of  sienite  are  exposed  to 
the  action  of  the  air,  they  have  a  reddish  hue.  But  it  owes  its  name, 
we  beheve,  to  the  fact  that  it  is  covered  with  the  uva  ursa,  the  leaves 
of  which  change  to  a  brilliant  red  in  autumn.  The  excursion  is 
easily  made  in  the  afternoon,  or  between  breakfast  and  dinner.  Its 
unwooded  peak  is  lifted  to  the  height  from  which  scenery  looks  most 
charming.  And  there  is  no  point  except  this,  along  the  regular  \ 
mountain  route,  beneath  which  a  large  lake  is  spread.  But  here 
Winnipiseogee  stretches  from  its  very  foot,  and  its  whole  length  is  ■ 
seen  as  far  as  the  softly  swelling  hills  tliat  bound  it  on  the  southeast. 
There  is  only  one  point  from  which  the  view  of  it  is  more  attractive, 
■ — that  is  from  the  highest  of  the  Belknap  mountains,  wliicli  stand, 
not  at  one  end  of  the  lake  like  Red  Hill,  but  midway  of  its  length. 
Mount  Belknap  is  visited  from  Laconia,  and  very  few  have  seen  from 
its  summit  the  lovely  mirror  in  which  its  own  feminine  form,  and  its 
smaller  sister  hill,  are  repeated.     But  whoever  misses  the  view  from 


64 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


Red  Hill,  loses  the  most  fascinating  and  thoroughly  enjoyable  view, 
from  a  moderate  mountain  height,  that  can  be  gained  from  any  emi- 
nence that  lies  near  the  tourist's  path.  The  Mount  Washington 
range  is  not  visible,  being  barred  from  sight  by  the  dark  Sandwich 


chain,  which  in  the  afternoon,  untouched  by  the  light,  wears  a  savage 
frown  that  contrasts  most  effectively  Avith  the  placid  beauty  of  the 
Lake  below.  Here  is  the  place  to  study  its  borders,  to  admire  the  fleet 
of  islands  that  ride  at  anchor  on  its  bosom — from  little  shallops  to 
grand  three-deckers — and  to  enjoy  the  exquisite  lines  by  which  its 
bays  are  enfolded,  in  which  its  coves  retreat,  and  with  which  its  low 
capes  cut  the  azure  water,  and  hang  over  it  an  emerald  fringe.    And 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  (55 

if  one  can  stay  there  late  in  the  afternoon,  as  we  have  stayed,  and  see 
the  shadows  thrown  out  from  the  island  and  trees,  and  the  hues  that 
flush  the  Lake's  surface  as  the  sun  declines,  he  will  be  prepared  to 
enjoy  more  thoroughly  the  description  of  such  an  hour  and  such  a 
view.,  with  which  Percival  has  enriched  American  literature. 

Thou  wert  calm, 
Even  as  an  infant  calm,  that  gentle  evening; 
And  one  could  hardly  dream  thou'dst  ever  met 
And  wrestled  with  the  storm.     A  breath  of  air. 
Felt  only  in  its  coolness,  from  the  west 
Stole  over  thee,  and  stirred  thy  golden  miiTor 
Into  long  waves,  that  only  showed  themselves 
In  ripples  on  thy  shore, — far  distant  ripples. 
Breaking  the  silence  with  their  quiet  kisses 
And  softly  murmuring  peace. 

•  Far  to  the  south 

Thy  slumbering  waters  floated,  one  long  sheet 
Of  burnished  gold, — between  thy  nearer  shores 
Softly  embraced,  and  melting  distantly 
Into  a  yellow  haze,  embosomed  low 
'Mid  shadowy  hills  and  misty  mountains,  all 
Covered  with  showery  light,  as  with  a  veil 
Of  airy  gauze.     Beautiful  were  thy  shores, 
And  manifold  their  outlines,  here  up-swelling 
In  bossy  green, — there  hung  in  slaty  cliffs, 
Black  as  if  hewn  from  jet,  and  overtopped 
With  the  dark  cedar's  tufts,  or  new- leaved  birch, 
Bright  as  the  wave  below.    How  glassy  clear 
The  far  expanse!     Beneath  it  all  the  sky 
Swelled  downward,  and  its  fleecy  clouds  were  gay 
With  all  their  rainbow  fringes,  and  the  trees 
And  cliffs  and  grassy  knolls  were  all  repeated 
Along  the  uncertain  shores, — so  clearly  seen 
Beneath  the  invisible  transparency. 
That  land  and  water  mingled,  and  the  one 
'  Seemed  melting  in  the  other.     0,  how  soft 

Yon  mountain's  heavenly  blue,  and  all  o'erlaid 

With  a  pale  tint  of  roses!     Deep  between 

The  ever-narrowing  lake,  just  faintly  marked 

By  its  reflected  light,  and  further  on 

Buried  in  vapory  foam,  as  if  a  surf 

Heaved  on  its  utmost  shore.     How  deep  the  silence  1 

Only  the  rustling  boughs,  the  broken  ripple. 

The  cricket  and  the  tree-frog,  with  the  tinkle 


66  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

Of  bells  in  fold  and  pasture,  or  a  voice 
Heard  from  a  distant  farm,  or  hollow  bay 
Of  home-returning  hound, — a  virgin  land 
Just  rescued  from  the  wilderness,  still  showing 
Wrecks  of  the  giant  forest 


I  gazed  upon  them. 
And  on  the  unchanging  lake,  and  felt  awhile 
Unutterable  joy, — I  loved  my  land 
With  more  than  filial  love, — it  was  a  joy 
That  only  spake  in  tears. 


But  the  beauty  of  the  lake  cannot  be  judged  from  a  point  so  high 
as  Red  Hill.  Its  varied  charms  are  not  to  be  seen  from  one  spot  on 
its  shore  like  Centre  Harbor.  They  must  be  sought  along  all  its 
intricate  borders,  among  its  three  hundred  or  more  islands,  and  in 
boats  upon  its  own  bosom.  This  is  the  way  to  find  the  most  delight- 
ful single  pictures.  This  is  the  way  to  study  at  leisure  landscapes 
which  the  swift  steamer  allows  3^ou  to  see  but  a  moment.  This  is  the 
way  to  find  delicious  "  bits,"  such  as  artists  love  for  studies,  of  jut- 
ting rock,  shaded  beach,  coy  and  curving  nook,  or  limpid  water 
prattling  upon  amethystine  sand.  At  one  point,  perhaps,  a  group  of 
graceful  trees  on  one  side,  a  grassy  or  tangled  shore  in  front,  and  a 
rocky  cape  curving  in  from  the  other  side,  compose  an  effective  fore- 
ground to  a  quiet  bay  with  finely  varied  borders,  and  the  double- 
peaked  Belknap  in  the  distance.  Or  what  more  charming  than  to 
Bail  slowly  along  and  see  the  numerous  islands  and  irregular  shores 
change  their  positions  and  weave  their  singular  combinations  ?  Now 
they  range  themselves  on  either  hand,  and  hem  a  vista  that  ex- 
tends to  the  blue  base  of  Copple  Crown.  Now  an  island  slides  its 
gray  or  purple  form  across,  and,  like  a  rood-screen,  divides  the  long 
watery  aisle  into  nave  and  choir,  followed  by  another  and  another, 
till  the  perspective  is  confused  and  the  vista  disappears.  Then  in 
the  distance,  islands  and  shores  will  marshal  themselves  in  long 
straight  fines,  fronting  you  as  regular  as  the  phalanxes  of  an  army ; 
and  if  the  sun  is  low  present  the  embattled  effect  the  more  forcibly, 
with  their  vertically  shadowed  sides  and  brightly  lighted  tops.     Or 


LAKE    WINNIPISEOGEE. 


67 


lo  s^vlltlJ  over  loMer  ranges,  and  soon 


68  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

the  whole  mountain  sweeps  into  view,  startling  you  with  its  ghost 
like  pallor,  and  haggard  crest.  On  a  morning  when  the  fog  is  clear- 
ing, is  the  time  to  be  tempted  towards  the  middle  of  the  lake,  to  see 
the  islands,  whose  green  looks  more  exquisite  then  than  in  any  other 
atmosphere,  stretch  away  in  perspectives  dreamy  and  illusive.  Two 
or  three  miles  of  distance  seem  five  times  as  long,  when  measured 
through  such  genial,  moist,  and  silvery  air.  And  now,  if  we  will  bend 
westward,  between  curving  shores  that  will  grant  us  ample  passage, 
we  shall  be  glad  to  find  ourselves  in  the  encircled  bay  near  Weir's, 
and  can  have  leisure  to  enjoy  in  silence  the  gentle  slopes  of  the  Bel- 
knaps,  and  the  succession  of  mounds  that  heave  away  from  them  to 
the  southeast,  while  the  fog  is  rolling  up  into  clouds,  and  the  sunshine 
slipping  down  a  broad  cultivated  field  on  one  of  the  swelling  cones, 
burnishes  it  to  emerald.  And  towards  evening  we  may  glide  down 
the  narrow  inlet  around  which  Centre  Harbor  is  built,  and  follow  the 
shadows,  while 

Slow  up  the  slopes  of  Ossipee 
They  chase  the  lessening  light. 

When  they  have  dislodged  it  all,  we  can  watch,  as  Ave  return  to  the 
village,  the  "  Procession  of  the  Pines,"  which  rise  on  the  south- 
western ridge  that  hems  the  cove,  and  be  tempted  to  fancy,  as  they 
darken,  while  the  saffron  horizon  is  dying  into  ashy  gray  sky,  that 
each  of  those  grotesque  and  weird  forms  holds  the  soul  of  some  grim 
old  Sachem. 

If  the  shores  of  the  Lake  were  lined  with  summer-houses,  how 
might  the  charms  of  boating  upon  Winnipiseogee  enrich  our  litera- 
ture !  Our  readers  of  course  knoAV  what  "  The  Autocrat  of  the 
Breakfast  Table  "  says  of  the  privilege  and  pleasure  of  boating. 
"  Here  you  are  afloat  with  a  body  a  rod  and  a  half  long,  with  arms, 
or  wings,  as  you  may  choose  to  call  them,  stretching  more  than 
twenty  feet  from  tip  to  tip  ;  every  volition  of  yours  extending  as 
perfectly  into  them  as  if  your  spinal  cord  ran  down  the  centre  strip 
of  your  boat,  and  the  nerves  of  your  arms  tingled  as  far  as  the  broad 


LAKE    VVINNIPISEOGEE.  69 

blades  of  your  oars.     This,  in  sober  earnest,  is  the  nearest  approach 

to  fljing  that  man  has  ever  made,  or  perhaps  ever  will  make 

I  dare  not  publicly  name  the  rare  joys,  the  infinite  delights,  that 
intoxicate  me  on  some  sweet  Jmie  morning,  when  the  river  and  bay 
are  smooth  as  a  sheet  of  beryl-green  silk,  and  I  run  along  ripping  it 
up  with  my  knife-edged  shell  of  a  boat,  the  rent  closing  after  me  like 
those  wounds  of  angels  which  Milton  tells  of,  but  the  seam  still  shin- 
ing for  many  a  long  rood  behind  me." 

Ah,  if  "  The  Autocrat "  Avould  visit  Winnipiseogee  for  a  season, 
and  cleave  its  glossy  azure  with  his  canoe,  and  tell  us  how  mountain 
peaks  and  lake  rhyme  themselves  in  his  imagination,— or  what  fancies 
visit  him  when  he  pauses  at  some  rare  scene,  and  the  silver  has 
dripped  from  his  resting  oar-blades,  and  the  wrinkled  curves  from  his 
prow  have  smoothed  into  calm,  and  headland,  mountain  chain,  eme- 
rald fringes  of  an  island  shore,  and  the  snowy  islands  of  the  over- 
brooding  blue  are  repeated  beneath  him  in  the  sleeping  silver ! 
Would  that  the  creeks  and  armlets  of  our  inland  bay,  with  all  their 
Bettings,  might  be  reflected  thus  in  "  The  Atlantic !  "  Shall  we 
never  have  our  "  lake-poets  "  to  celebrate  for  us  the  surroundings  of 
Winnipiseogee,  as  the  Cumberland  lakes  have  been  interpreted  by 
Wordsworth  and  his  friends  ?  Here  is  a  passage  in  which  Words- 
worth describes  his  rowing  over  Windermere  with  a  companion  : — 

Soon  as  the  reedy  marge 
Was  cleared,  I  dipped,  with  arms  accordant,  oars 
Free  from  obstruction;  and  the  boat  advanced 
Through  crystal  water,  smoothly  as  a  hawk, 
That,  disentangled  from  the  shady  boughs 
Of  some  thick  wood,  her  place  of  covert,  cleaves 
With  correspondent  wings  the  abyss  of  air. 
— "  Observe,"  the  Vicar  said,  "  yon  rocky  isle 
With  birch-trees  fringed;  my  hand  shall  guide  the  helm 
While  thitherward  we  shape  our  course;  or  while 
We  seek  that  other,  on  the  western  shore. 
Where  the  bare  columns  of  those  lofty  firs. 
Supporting  gracefully  a  massy  dome 
Of  sombre  foliage,  seem  to  imitate 
A  Grecian  temple  rising  from  the  Deep." 
"  Turn  where  we  may,"  said  I,  "  we  cannot  err 
12 


70  THE    WHITE    HIELS. 

In  this  delicious  ret!;ion."     Cultured  slopes, 

Wild  tracts  of  forest  ground,  and  scattered  groves, 

And  mountains  bare,  or  clothed  with  ancient  weeds, 

Surrounded  us;  and,  as  we  held  our  wny 

Along  the  level  of  the  glassy  flood. 

They  ceased  not  to  surround  us;  change  of  place, 

Producing  change  of  beauty  ever  new. 

Ah!  that  such  beauty,  varying  in  the  light 

Of  living  nature,  cannot  be  portrayed 

By  words,  nor  by  the  pencil's  silent  skill; 

But  is  the  property'  of  him  alone 

Who  hath  beheld  it,  noted  it  with  care, 

And  in  his  mind  recorded  it  with  love! 

Why  is  it  that  the  reflections  in  a  still  river  or  lake  as  we  float 
over  it,  or  "vvander  by  its  shores,  are  so  much  more  charming  than 
the  actual  scenes  ?  The  shallowest  still  water,  it  has  been  happily 
said,  is  unfathomable.  Wherever  the  trees  and  skies  are  reflected, 
there  is  more  than  Atlantic  depth,  and  no  danger  of  fancy  running 
aground.  Has  the  reader  ever  looked  at  a  landscape  by  bending  his 
head  low,  thus  turning  his  eyes  upside  down,  and  noticed  how  much 
richer  are  the  colors,  how  much  sublimer  the  sky,  how  much  more 
vast  and  impressive  the  revelation  of  space  ?  So  the  landscape 
turned  upside  down  in  the  mirror  of  a  lake  is  unspeakably  more 
bewitching.  The  mountains  that  point  to  the  nadir  are  more  fasci- 
nating than  those  that  soar  to  the  zenith.  The  vines  and  grasses 
that  fringe  the  unsubstantial  coasts  below  have  a  sweeter  grace  than 
those  which  can  be  plucked.  Is  it  not  Coleiidge  who  compares  with 
this  the  superior  fascination  we  find  in  a  character,  or  in  a  natural 
scene,  when  reported  from  the  imagination  of  a  great  poet,  than  when 
we  see  the  elements  of  it  in  the  real  Avorld  ? 

We  shall  not  find  this  exquisite  vmder  world,  this  bottomless  deep 
of  ideal  beauty,  described  with  strokes  more  vivid  and  airy  than 
in  the  following  passage  from  Rev.  Mr.  Bartol's  "  Pictures  of  Eu- 
rope," in  which  he  portrays  a  lake  of  the  Tyrol  which  no  map  has 
ever  reported.  "  Into  the  pellucid  water  glides  our  little  boat.  As 
I  gazed,  I  felt  almost  unsafe,  suspended  at  some  dizzy  height ;  for  it 
was  as  if  only   the   thinnest,  finest  layer  of  gossamer  fabric  were 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  71 

stretched  there  for  a  horizontal  veil  or  floor,  and  on  both  sides,  the 
unfathomable  abyss.  On  smoothly  darts  our  secure  vessel.  I  look 
over  her  side  into  the  infinite  chasm.  What  keeps  her  from  falling 
down  ?  On  what  mysterious  support  does  she  ride  between  these 
rival  skies  ?  How,  through  this  hollow  sphere,  holds  she  her  level 
way  ?  Is  she  a  fairy  bark,  and  are  we  spirits  transported  now  tow- 
ards some  sphere  of  the  blessed  ?  From  this  mood  I  was  diverted  a 
little,  and  my  mind  saved  from  losing  itself  in  pure  ecstasy,  by 
observing  the  huge  forms  of  the  inverted  hills,  running  downward  as 
far  as  upward,  in  their  erectness,  they  climbed.  What  refinement 
of  pleasure  was  Utiere  in  remarking  the  minuteness,  as  well  as  vast- 
ness  of  the  copy  !  Ah  !  no  copyist  of  the  old  masters  can  render 
his  original  upon  the  canvas  as  faithfully  in  every  hne  and  hue,  or 
with  expression  so  perfect  and  speaking,  as  it  pleases  God  here  to 
translate  his  own  works  in  the  engravings  of  this  marvellous  page. 
He,  too,  writes  his  name  in  water  ;  and,  if  it  fades  with  the  ruffling 
wind,  it  fades  but  to  return  again  with  spell  more  sweetly  binding 
than  if  it  had  not  vanished  at  all.  How  we  admired  the  submarine 
curving  lines,  the  diverse  shades, — each  angle  flashing  back  the 
light,  each  vapor-shrouded  point  jutting  from  the  mighty  mass, — the 
shi*eds  of  woolly  cloud  floating  underneath,  and  the  winds  blowing  gen- 
tly round  the  spectral  mountain's  brow  as  truly  as  about  the  other 
mountain  on  high !  How  the  double  glory  divided  our  regard,  till 
we  drew  towards  the  shore  from  which  we  were  to  roll  on  wheels 
again  by  a  road  hedged  in  on  one  side  by  verdant  woods,  and  on  the 
other  by  amber  streams,  that,  with  their  clear,  delicious  color,  told  us 
whence  the  lake  derived  its  crystal  character  to  make  it  like  '  one 
entire  and  perfect  chrysolite  ! '  " 

But  it  is  time  that  we  should  say  something  of  the  charms  of  color 
which  a  long  visit  by  the  lake  shore  will  reveal.  Many  persons  sup- 
pose that  they  have  seen  Winnipiseogee  in  passing  over  it  in  the 
steamer  on  their  way  to  Conway  and  "  The  Notch."  Seen  the 
lake  !     Which  lake  ?     There  are  a  thousand.     It  is  a  chameleon. 


72  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

It  is  not  a  steady  sapphire  set  in  green,  but  an  opal.  Under  no  twc 
Bkies  or  winds  is  it  the  same.  It  is  gray,  it  is  blue,  it  is  olive,  it  is 
azure,  it  is  purple,  at  the  will  of  the  breezes,  the  clouds,  the  hours. 
Sail  over  it  on  some  afternoon  when  the  sky  is  leaden  with  northeast 
mists,  and  you  can  see  the  simple  beauty  of  form  in  which  its  shores 
and  guards  are  sculptured.  This  is  the  permanent  lake  which  pro- 
saic geology  has  filled  and  feeds.  And  this  was  placed  there  to  dis- 
play the  riches  of  color  in  which  the  infiniteness  of  the  Creator's  art 
is  revealed  to  us  more  than  in  the  scale  of  space. 

We  have  said  that  the  lake  is  an  opal.  If  pereons  with  artistic 
delight  in  color  should  keep  a  journal  of  what  would  be  shown  to 
them  during  a  few  weeks,  they  would  be  surprised  at  the  octaves  that 
are  touched  in  the  course  of  a  short  season,  and  at  the  suddenness  of 
their  transitions.  People  should  learn  to  notice  the  changes  and 
combination  and  range  of  colors,  not  merely  for  the  joy  that  is  given 
at  the  moment  through  definite  perception,  but  also  for  the  education 
of  taste  in  the  appreciation  and  enjoj'ment  of  art.  How  can  a  per- 
son, that  has  not  observed  minutely  and  faithfully  the  hues  and  har- 
monies of  a  landscape  at  different  times  of  day,  and  under  widely 
different  conditions  of  air  and  cloud  and  light,  intelligently  compre- 
hend and  judge  the  products  and  the  genius  of  the  masters  of  land- 
scape, as  displayed  in  our  art  rooms  ?  The  effect  of  White  Mountain 
journeys  should  be  seen  in  our  homes,  in  a  purer  delight  in  art,  and 
an  intelligent  patronage  of  it.  And  it  is  only  close  observance  of  the 
ever  changing  expressions  which  flit  over  the  face  of  Nature,  that  en- 
lightens taste,  and  makes  it  competent  for  this.  It  has  been  well  said 
that  a  connoisseur  who  has  scampered  over  all  Europe,  and  who  most 
likely  cannot  tell  the  shape  of  the  leaf  of  an  elm,  will  be  voluble  of 
criticism  on  every  painted  landscape  from  Dresden  to  Madrid,  and 
pretend  to  decide  whether  they  are  like  Nature  or  not.  And  thus 
many  a  person  may  pronounce  upon  the  tone  of  a  picture,  that  it  is 
not  natural,  who  has  no  conception  of  the  scale  and  freaks  of  color 
which  a  fortnight  reveals  among  the  mountains  and  by  Winnipiseogee. 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  73 

If  the  lake  were  to  be  painted  as  it  may  sometimes  be  seen  in  the 
forenoon  of  a  day  when  clouds  are  flying  over  the  sun,  the  water  should 
be  dyed  the  intensest  blue,  with  a  single  horizontal  line  of  white 
towards  the  farthest  shore.  But  if  the  painter  is  to  report  it  as  it 
appears  a  few  moments  after,  when  the  sun  emerges  from  the  clouds, 
he  must  make  a  picture  in  which  there  is  no  deep  blue,  nor  any  defi- 
nite color,  but  one  broad  field  of  glittering  and  tremulous  brightness. 
Another  picture  would  show  the  azure  surface  deepened  to  indigo, 
and  its  usually  dark  islands  rising  out  light  upon  the  darkness  around 
them.  Under  a  drapery  of  drowsy  clouds,  >when  the  shores  cut 
harshly  the  gray  Avater  that  is  rufiled  by  the  lazy  wind,  the  canvas 
can  glow  with  no  splendors,  but  will  suggest  chiefly  the  throbbing 
sound  of  the  wavelets  that  crumble  upon  the  clean  beaches 

In  tender  curving  lines  of  creamy  spray. 

A  view  taken  in  smoky  weather  will  show  the  lake  with  its  delicate 
web  of  cross  ripples  as  a  beautiful  lace  pattern,  miles  in  extent,  tinted 
pale  blue,  cream  white,  and  rosy  gray.  Or  as  the  charming  Proteus 
appears  on  some  clear,  calm  evening,  the  artist  that  copies  it  must 
stripe  the  canvas  with  diSerent  colored  zones  of  varying  widths,  some 
opaque,  others  transparent,  according  as  they  reflect  the  glowing 
tints  of  the  lower,  or  the  cooler  lights  of  the  upper  sky. 

And  now  and  then  a  thunder-shower,  in  an  afternoon  when  the 
sunlight  gently  shimmers  over  its  breadth,  comes  to  try  its  resources 
in  color  efiects.  It  sweeps  low  across  it  with  slaty  wings,  and  blots 
out  the  islands  and  blackens  the  water  with  its  rough  breath  and 
angry  shade.  Watch  now,  after  the  gusts  of  rain  are  spent,  the 
inky  darkness  of  the  upper  end  of  the  lake.  But  the  islands  farther 
away,  just  coming  into  the  returning  fight  out  of  the  cloud-fringe, 
ihow  a  white  lustre  as  of  new-fallen  snow.  And  when  the  wrath  of 
the  tempest  has  retreated  towards  the  sea,  one  can  have  the  privi- 
lege, from  the  hills  of  Centre  Harbor,  of  seeing  a  rainbow  span  the 
lake,  succeeded,  perhaps,  by  a  sunset  in  which  the  whole  surface  of 


74  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

the  water,  responding  to  the  hues  above,  outvies  the  rainbow  "with 
gorgeous  flames. 

A  more  sensitive  eye  will  not  fail  to  notice  the  variety  of  sunset 
effects  by  which  Winnipiseogee  is  glorified.  The  great  wreaths  of 
gray  and  white  cumuli,  which  sailed  slowly  around  the  skies'  verge 
during  the  day,  will  sometimes  melt  into  the  uprising  mists  of  even- 
ing, and  belt  the  horizon  Avith  a  delicate  zone  of  violet  and  gray. 
What  an  exquisite  veil  is  this  for  the  shadowed  parts  of  the  hills 
around  the  southerly  shores  of  the  lake,  and  what  a  fascinating  con- 
trast to  the  fine  pencillings  of  pale  reddish  hues  on  their  sunward 
outlines!  Another  evening,  the  hills  are  not  obscured  thus.  They 
stretch  a  long  chain  of  azure  and  purple  under  the  southern  sky, 
which  is  filled  over  and  back  of  them  with  masses  of  irregular,  flaky^ 
low  clouds  of  orange,  violet,  and  gray,  that  float  before  rich  fields  of 
creamy  cirrus.  These  hues  run  an  octave  higher  than  those  on  the 
mountains  below,  and  the  sunbeams  vivify  them  still  more  here  and 
there  with  yellow  curves  and  jagged  lines  of  scarlet. 

The  abruptness  and  height  of  the  hill  to  the  northwest  renders 
Centre  Harbor  comparatively  unfavorable  for  seeing  sunsets.  Yet 
we  now  and  then  see  a  display  there  which  the  elevated  and  dark 
horizon  seems  to  heighten  rather  than  to  mar.  But  let  me  quote 
here  a  passage  from  a  letter  of  an  artist  friend,  in  which  he  describes 
a  sunset  that  he  once  saw  early  in  July  during  a  visit  to  Centre  Har- 
bor. "  The  day  had  been  cloudy,  with  scattered  showers,  and  the 
effects,  broad  and  massive,  about  the  setting  sun,  were  unspeakably 
rich  in  form  and  color.  The  tumultuous  mingling  of  broad  folds  of 
half-exhausted  rain  clouds  and  rolling  piles  of  cumuli  near  the  sun, 
with  their  deep,  though  transparent  colors,  their  wild  dashes  of  gor- 
geous tertiaries,  and  jagged  breaks  of  flaming  orange  and  crinkling 
gold,  showed  me  from  what  studies  Rubens  colored  the  '  Judgment 
of  Paris '  and  the  '  Plague  of  the  Fiery  Serpents.'  The  most  beau- 
tiful feature  of  the  evening's  display  came  a  little  later,  when  the  sun 
wSiS  down,  and  had  withdra\vn  his  fire  from  a  large  mass  of  the  lower 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  75 

clouds,  which  now  being  purified,  gathered  into  one  towering  form  of 
priestly  vapor,  unsullied  white,  rising  high  above  the  murkiness  and 
splendid  impurity  around  into  the  tender  golden  blue  of  the  upper 
sky.  The  most  notable  peculiarity  about  it,  however,  was  the  seem- 
ingly perfect  whiteness  of  the  great  mass  in  shade,  while  the  narrow 
edging  of  sunshine  appeared  white  again  in  flame." 

But  we  must  not  pass  from  a  treatment  of  the  color  around  Lake 
Winnipiseogee  without  referring  to  the  October  splendors  that  begird 
it,  when  the  hues  of  sunset  are  spread  permanently  upon  the  hills. 
During  July  and  August,  a  gradual  change  is  slowly  going  on,  by 
which  the  colors  of  June  are  not  so  much  altered  as  deepened  and 
enriched.  September  is  the  transition  period,  from  the  styles  or 
effects  of  color  in  the  season's  time  of  growth,  to  those  belonging  to 
the  period  of  decline  and  decay.  As  yet  the  landscape  has  lost 
nothing  of  the  fulness  of  its  summer  foliage.  But  richer  tints  grad- 
ually steal  into  the  shadows  and  darker  tones  of  the  landscape,  warm- 
ing the  coolness,  and  breaking  the  monotony,  with  flashes  of  crimson 
and  orange.  More  purple  is  shown  in  the  distances  of  the  lake,  with 
richer  browns  and  lighter  olives  and  citrine  upon  the  foregrounds. 
Nature  seems  to  be  carelessly  running  her  hand  over  the  notes, 
touching  and  indicating  the  great  chords,  before  breaking  into  the 
full  pomp  of  the  autumn  symphony. 

And  as  October  comes  near,  the  pale  green  of  the  plentiful  birches 
mounts  into  yellow.  Some  of  the  maples  have  turned  to  scarlet, 
others  orange,  others  a  dull  or  pale  red.  The  oaks  and  hardier  trees 
show  deep  crimson  stains  running  among  their  dark  green  masses. 
The  grass-grounds  or  pastures  are  becoming  yellow.  The  bared 
edges  and  boulders,  so  quiet  and  shy  in  their  light  gray  suits  of 
summer,  stand  out  conspicuous  in  blue  and  purple  ;  and  the  humble 
sumachs  have  advanced  from  their  shadowed  places,  and  are  calling 
attention  to  their  red  and  yellow  plumes.  On  the  borders  of  the 
little  streams  or  pools  in  the  meadows,  the  pink  and  purple  clusters  of 
the  thoroughwort  blossoms,  the  blue  and  white  asters,  and  the  epaulet 


76  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

flowers  are  in  their  prime ;  a  deep  red  mingles  with  the  olive  of  the 
ferns,  and  the  sweetbrier  is  hung  thick  with  scarlet  berries. 

These  colors  mounting  and  growing  richer  in  hue  and  mass  give 
the  tone  to  the  landscape  seen  around  Winnipiseogee  in  mid-October. 
Now  indeed  we  may  safely  say  that  nothing  in  Europe  can  surpass 
it.  The  rose-tints  on  the  snowy  spires  that  shoot  over  the  Konigsee  ; 
the  flushes  "  which  morn  and  crimson  evening  paint,"  that  dye  the 
steep  crests  which  soar  above  the  cultivated  slopes  around  Lucerne ; 
the  dreamy  air  and  flickering  lights  that  enhance  the  beauty  of  the 
Italian  shores  under  which  Como  sleeps,  are  more  than  mated  in  the 
gorgeousness  and  the  softness  amid  which  the  New  England  lake  is 
paviUoned  now.  Whoever  has  the  privilege  of  sailing  on  Winni- 
piseogee during  the  heart  of  October  may  say, 

My  soul  to-day 

Is  far  away, 
Sailing  the  Vesuvian  Bay; 

My  winged  boat, 

A  bird  afloat, 
Swims  round  the  purple  peaks  remote; — 

Round  purple  peaks 

It  sails  and  seeks 
Blue  inlets  and  their  crystal  creeks. 

Where  high  rocks  throw 

Through  deeps  below, 
A  duplicated  golden  glow. 

I  heed  not,  if 

My  rippling  skiff 
Floats  swift  or  slow  from  cliff  to  cliff; — 

With  dreamful  eyes 

My  spirit  lies 
Under  the  walls  of  Paradise. 

Whence  have  these  hues  been  distilled  that  surpass  the  richness  of 
the  Orient  and  the  flames  that  are  reflected  in  the  Amazon  ?  Whence 
has  overflowed  upon  the  prosaic  air  of  New  England  this  luxurious 
sweetness  through  which  the  light  transudes  upon  a  pageant  such  as 
no  poet  has  ascribed  to  the  pastures  and  the  hill-sides  of  Arcadia  ? 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  77 

How  near  to  us  are  the  fountains  of  miracle  !     How  close  the  proc- 
esses and  magic  of  the  Infinite  art ! 

Onward  and  on,  the  eternal  Pan, 
.  Who  layeth  the  world's  incessant  plan, 
Halteth  never  in  one  shape. 
But  forever  doth  escape 
Like  wave  or  flame,  into  new  forms. 


The  world  is  the  ring  of  his  spells. 
And  the  play  of  his  miracles. 


Besides  the  splendor  and  subtlety  of  the  colors  around  Winni- 
piseogee  in  October,  there  is  a  continual  changefulness  in  every  part 
of  the  view,  even  the  foregrounds ;  and  especially  under  the  magic 
influence  of  the  evening  light,  dolphin  flushes  seem  to  make  the  land- 
scape unsteady,  and  the  scenes  as  we  look  at  them  undergo 

a  sea  change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 

A  wooded  cape  or  island,  one  moment  blazing  in  bright  yellow  and 
green,  orange  and  scarlet,  is  the  next  a  mass  of  variegated  gray  and 
purple  or  faded  green.  The  Ossipee  range  now  displays  over  its 
extensive  sides  a  lambent  vesture  of  light  purple  and  crimson,  yellow, 
pale-green,  and  orange,  softened  and  harmonized  by  a  thin  glazing 
of  transparent  azure  ;  but  turn  again  and  it  sleeps  calmly  in  a  robe 
of  the  tenderest  violet,  and  the  nearer  objects 

The  woods  erewhile  armed  in  gold, 
Their  banners  bright  with  every  martial  hue. 
Now  stand  like  some  sad  beaten  hosts  of  old 
Withdrawn  afar  in  time's  remotest  blue. 

By  the  October  haze,  one  considerable  defect  in  the  general  lake 
views,  to  an  artistic  eye,  is  remedied.  The  somewhat  harsh,  spotty, 
or  scattering  effect  of  the  irregular  breaking  in  of  so  many  dark 
points  of  land  upon  the  light  water,  is  concealed  or  softened. 

How  fuse  and  mix,  with  what  unfelt  degrees, 
Clasped  by  the  faint  horizon's  languid  arms, 
Each  into  each,  the  hazy  distances! 
13 


78  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

The  softened  season  all  the  landscape  charms; 

Those  hills,  my  native  village  that  embay, 

In  waves  of  dreamier  purple  roll  away. 
And  flonting  in  mirage  seem  all  the  glimmering  farms. 

And  the  morning  and  evening  effects  now  show  more  variety,  as  well 
as  richness,  than  in  the  summer  months.  What  added  picturesque- 
ness  is  given  to  the  reflections  by  the  many  and  various  colors  around 
the  shores !  And  what  joy  to  sail  in  the  steamer  when  the  evening 
sunlight  pours  upon  the  sides  of  Ossipee  and  Red  Hill,  falling  here 
and  there  upon  grassy  slopes,  running  in  golden  streams  to  the  water's 
edge,  leaving  broad  spaces  or  stripes  of  deep  emerald  or  purple  shade 
between,  over  which  some  scattered  majDles  and  birches  stand,  kin- 
dled into  torches  of  scarlet  and  yellow  fire  ! 

The  birds  with  most  splendid  plumage  are  not  attractive  songsters. 
In  the  summer-time,  the  pleasure  of  morning  and  evening  by  the 
lake-side  is  enhanced  by  the  songs  of  birds  and  the  sounds  of  winds 
through  the  waving  crops  and  the  full  strung  harps  of  the  woods. 
But  now  the  appeal  is  to  the  eye,  and  the  ear  is  unsolicited.  It  is 
the  melodies  of  tint  and  the  grand  harmonies  of  color  that  appeal  to 
us  in  the  Autumn.  There  is  seldom  a  breeze  on  the  lake  during  the 
reign  of  the  October  haze.  The  tender  Avhispers  of  the  wind  are 
aushed  ;  the  pulses  of  robin  music,  the  shrill  but  sweet  soprano  of 
ihe  fife-bird,  and  the  whippoorwills'  soft  concert,  do  not  enrich  the 
air.  The  cricket's  monotonous  chant,  "  the  insect's  drowsy  hum," 
is  all  the  accompaniment  allowed  to  the  gorgeous  pageantry  of 
October,  the  sunset  of  the  year. 

It  is  a  pity  that  tourists  could  not  see  the  lake  when  it  is  thus 
enfolded  in  the  pomp  of  purple  and  gold.  But  if  we  can  learn  to  see 
it  truly  in  its  paler  beauty  of  summer,  we  shall  find  ourselves  drawn 
into  sympathy  with  the  charming  poem  written  by  Mr.  Whittier  as 
the  antistrophe  to  the  lines  which  introduce  our  description,  entitled. 


LAKE   WINNIPISEOGEE.  79 

SUMMER  BY  THE   LAKE-SIDE. 

EVENING. 


Yon  mountain's  side  is  black  with  night, 
While,  broad-orbed,  o'er  its  gleaming  crown 

The  moon  slow  rounding  into  sight, 
On  the  hushed  inland  sea  looks  down. 

How  start  to  light  the  clustering  isles, 
Each  silver-hemmed !     How  sharply  show 

The  shadows  of  their  rocky  piles, 
And  tree-tops  in  the  wave  below! 

How  far  and  strange  the  mountains  seem, 
Dim-looming  through  the  pale,  still  light! 

The  vague,  vast  grouping  of  a  dream, 
They  stretch  into  the  solemn  night. 

Beneath,  lake,  wood,  and  peopled  vale. 
Hushed  by  that  presence  grand  and  ffCBv 

Are  silent,  save  the  cricket's  wail. 
And  low  response  of  leaf  and  wav^' 

Fair  scenes!  wnereto  ttie  Uay  ana  Nigat 
Make  rival  love,  I  leave  ye  soon. 

What  time  before  the  eastern  light 
The  pale  ghost  of  the  setting  moon 

Shall  hide  behind  yon  rocky  spines, 

And  the  young  archer.  Morn,  shall  break 

His  arrows  on  the  mountain  pines. 
And,  golden-sandalled,  walk  the  lake! 

Farewell!  ai'ound  this  smiling  bay 

Gay-hearted  Health,  and  Life  in  bloom 

With  lighter  steps  than  mine,  may  stray 
In  radiant  summers  yet  to  come. 

But  none  shall  more  regretful  leave 
These  waters  and  these  hills  than  I; 

Or,  distant,  fonder  dream  how  eve 
Or  dawn  is  painting  wave  and  sky: 

U  * 


80  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

How  rising  moons  sliine  sad  and  mild 
On  wooded  isle  and  silvering  bay; 

Or  setting  suns  beyond  the  piled 
And  purple  mountains  lead  the  da\'; 

Nor  laughing  girl,  nor  bearding  boy, 

Nor  full  pulsed  manhood,  lingering  here. 

Shall  add  to  life's  abounding  joy. 
The  charmed  repose  to  suffering  dear 

Still  waits  kind  Nature  to  impart 
Her  choicest  gifts  to  such  as  gain 

An  entrance  to  her  loving  heart 

Through  the  sharp  discipline  of  pain. 

Forever  from  the  hand  that  takes 
One  blessing  from  us  others  fall; 

And,  soon  or  late,  our  Father  makes 
His  perfect  recompense  to  all ! 

0,  watched  by  Silence  and  the  Night, 
And  folded  in  the  strong  embrace 

Of  the  great  mountains,  with  the  light 
Of  the  sweet  heavens  upon  thy  face, 

Lane  of  the  Northland !  keep  thy  dowet 
Of  beauty  still,  and  while  above 

Thy  solemn  mountains  speak  of  power, 
Be  thoD  the  mirror  of  God's  love. 


I 


THE    PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY. 


PLYMOUTH,  CAMPTON,  AND  FRANCONIA. 


•'  We  were  thus  entering  the  State  of  New  Hampshire  on  the  bosom  nj  the  flood  formed  btj 
Ike  tribute  of  its  innumerable  valleys.  Tlie  river  was  the  only  key  which  could  unlock  its  maze, 
presenting  its  hills  and  valleys,  its  lakes  and  streams,  in  their  natural  oi-der  and  position.  The 
Merrimack,  or  Sturgeon  River,  is  formed  by  the  confluence  of  the  Pemigewasset,  which  liset 
near  the  Notch  of  the  White  Mountains,  and  tlie  Wlnnipiseogee,  which  drains  the  lake  of  the 
tame  n:me.  At  frst  it  comes  on  munnuring  to  itself  by  the  base  of  stately  and  retired  moun- 
tains, through  moist  primitive  woods  whose  juices  it  receives,  where  the  bear  still  drinks  it,  and 
the  cabins  of  settlers  are  far  between,  and  there  are  few  to  ci-oss  its  stream  ;  enjoying  in  soli- 
tude its  cascades  still  unknown  to  fame ;  by  long  ranges  of  mountains  of  Sandwich  and  of 
Squam,  slumbering  like  tumuli  of  Titans,  with  tlie  peaks  of  Moosehillock,  tlie  Haystack,  ana 
Kiarsarge,  reflected  in  its  waters ;  where  the  maple  and  the  raspberry,  those  lovers  ofUie  hills, 
flourish  amid  temperate  dews  ;—flcncing  long  and  full  of  meaning,  but  untramlatahle  ns  it» 
name  Pemigewasset,  by  many  a  pastured  Pelion  and  Ossa,  tchere  unnamed  muses  haunt, — 
tended  by  Oreads,  Dryads,  Naiads,  and  receiving  the  tribute  of  many  an  nntasled  Hippocrene. 

Sucli  water  do  the  godx  distil, 
Ana  pour  amen  every  hill 

For  their  New  Engletnd  men  , 
A  draught  of  this  wild  nfctar  hnng. 
And  I'll  not  last::  the  spring 

Of  Helicon  again. 

Falling  all  the  way,  and  yet  not  discouraged  by  the  lowest  fall.  By  the  law  of  its  birth  never 
to  become  stagnant,  for  it  has  come  out  of  the  clouds,  and  down  the  sides  of  precipices  toom  in 
the  flood,  through  beaver-dams  broke  loose,  not  splitting  but  splicing  and  mending  itself,  until, 
it  found  a  breathing-place  in  this  low  land.  There  is  no  danger  now  that  the  sun  will  steal  i> 
back  to  heaven  again  before  it  reach  the  sea,  for  it  has  a  warrant  even  to  recover  its  own  dews 
into  its  br^om  with  interest  at  every  eve." 

Thokeau. 


THE   PE^nGEAVASSET   VALLEY. 

One  hour  by  steamer  across  Lake  Winnipiseogee,  and  another 
hour  by  cars,  will  carry  the  traveller  from  Centre  Harbor  _to  Plym- 
outh, from  which  the  stages  start  with  passengers  for  the  Franconia 
mountains,  at  the  head  of  the  valley  of  the  Pemigewasset.  The 
distance  from  Centre  Harbor,  directly  across  to  Plymouth  by  the 
county  road,  is  only  twelve  miles.  If  this  road  were  less  hilly,  it 
would  offer  one  of  the  most  delightful  drives  among  the  mountains. 
Although  but  twelve  miles  long,  its  measure,  by  the  artist's  estimate, 
must  take  into  account  the  water-views  that  spot  it  so  brilliantly. 
During  a  large  portion  of  the  drive  the  two  lakes, — Great  Squam, 
singularly  striped  "oith  long,  narrow,  crinkUng  islands,  and,  like 
Wordsworth's  river,  Annding  in  the  landscape  "  at  its  oa\ti  sweet 
will," — and  Little  Squam,  unbroken  by  islands,  fringed  and  shadowed 
by  thickets  of  the  richest  foliage,  that  is  disposed  around  its  western 
shore,  in  a  long  sweeping  curve  line  which  will  be  remembered  as  a 
dehghtful  melody  of  the  eye, — offer  themselves  in  various  aspects  that 
often  compel  us  to  stop  and  quietl}^  drink  in  their  beauty.  No  won- 
der that  the  Indians  were  so  strongly  attached  to  this  neighborhood. 
and  fought  so  desperately  before  yielding  the  possession  of  it  to  the 
white  intruders.  The  lower  hills  tempted  them  with  abundance  of 
game,  and  the  calm  water  supplied  them  with  unfailmg  stores  of 
fish  ;  while  Winnipiseogee  was  but  six  miles  distant  one  way,  and 
the  Pemigewasset  equally  near  on  the  west.  And  possibly  the  sur- 
passing lovelmess  of  the  landscape  served  as  a  golden  thread  in  the 
cord  that  bound  them  to  this  peaceful  dell  in  the  centre  of  New  Eng- 
land.    The  larger  Squam  Lake,  not  a  fourth  part  so  large  as  Winni 


84 


THE    WHITE    HILLS. 


piseogee,  is  doubtless  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  small  sheets  of 
water  in  New  England  ;  and  it  has  been  pronounced  by  one  gen- 
tleman, no  less  careful  in  his  words  than  cultivated  in  his  taste, 
more  charmingly  embosomed  in  the  landscape  than  any  lake  of  ec[ual 
Bize  he  had  ever  seen  in  Europe  or  America. 


TJie  whole  Sandwich  range  is  in  view  behind  the  lower  hills  thai 
guard  the  lake.  The  most  striking  picture  is  gained  about  five  miles 
from  Centre  Harbor,  from  the  top  of  a  hill  on  the  road,  where,  as  we 
look  over  the  broadest  portion  of  the  lake,  and  across  several  parallel 
pars  of  narrow  islands,  the  whole  form  of  gallant  Chocorua,  with  his 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET    VALLEY.  85 

eteel-hooded  head,  fills  the  background  to  the  north-ward,  to^vering, 
without  any  intervening  obstruction,  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  away.  We 
give  an  illustration  of  this  view.  But  we  can  call  attention  in  words 
only  to  a  dark  and  massive  mountain  that  stands  also  in  the  land 
scape,  wearing  a  hue  as  of  beaten  metals  and  adamant.  From  what- 
ever point  it  is  observed  near  Centre  Harbor,  it  is  distinguished  by 
its  darker  color  from  the  main  Sandwich  range,  back  of  which  it 
looms.  And  from  Squam  Lake  it  shows  scattered  points,  and  short, 
jagged  lines  of  glittering  lights,  (probably  bare  points  of  quartz,) 
which  make  its  darkness  sparkle  as  though  it  were  sheathed  in  a  coat 
of  mail. 

There  are  charming  reliefs  of  forest-path  in  the  road,  which,  though 
uneven,  is  of  quite  civilized  smoothness.  And  it  opens  at  last  upon 
a  splendid  surprise  in  the  rich  meadows  of  Holderness  and  Plymouth, 
that  are  studded  or  overlooked  by  tasteful  country  residences,  and 
adorned  with  clusters  and  avenues  of  grand  old  elms.  Holderness, 
which  lies  opposite  Plymouth  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Pemigewas- 
set,  was  founded  by  a  company  of  English  emigrants  ardently  devoted 
to  the  creed  and  worship  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  with  glowing 
anticipations  of  the  future  for  the  colony.  The  founders  hoped  and 
beheved  that  they  were  laying  the  basis  of  the  great  city  of  New 
England,  the  rival  of  Puritan  Boston,  and  destined  to  throw  it  in  the 
shade.  The  head-quarters  of  heresy,  they  allowed,  would  have  some 
commercial  advantages,  on  account  of  its  nearness  to  the  ocean  and 
its  excellent  harbor  ;  but,  in  population,  refinement,  dignity,  and 
wealth,  they  supposed  that  Holderness  was  to  be  the  chief  city  of  the 
New  England  colonies.  What  a  strange  answer  to  their  dream,  that 
even  the  pretension  with  which  the  settlement  was  made  is  not  noticed 
by  history,  and  has  scarcely  wandered  from  the  proprietors'  records 
into  any  tradition ! 

Plymouth  is  one  of  the  villages  to  which  a  day  or  two,  at  least, 

should  be  devoted  on  the  way  to  the  mountains.     Many  ^^sitors  wiU 

'^e  glad  to  learn  that  the  old  building  remains  here  in  which  Danie 

u 


86 


THE    WHITE   HILLS. 


Webster  made  his  fii-st  argument  before  a  court.  It  is  now  used  as 
a  wheelwright's  shop.  The  statesman  wrote  his  name  in  large  letters 
with  red  chalk,  a  short  time  before  his  death,  upon  a  wall  of  the  room 
which  vibrated  to  his  first  legal  eifort ;  but  the  autograph,  the  most 
valuable  one  probably  to  be  found  in  New  England,  has  since  been 
covered  by  a  daub  from  a  paint  brush.  In  scenery,  Plymouth  is 
remarkable  for  the  beauty  of  its  meadows,  through  which  the  Pemi- 
gewasset  wmds,  and  for  the  grace  of  its  elm-trees.  Even  the  hurry- 
in";  and  careless  visitor  will  have  his  attention  arrested  here  and  there 


by  a  faultless  one,  standing  out  alone  over  its  private  area  of  shadow 
seemingly  an  ever-gushing  fountain  of  graceful  verdure. 

There  are  several  moderate  hills  in  the  village  from  which  dehght 


THE   PEAUGEWASSET   VALLEY.  87 

ful  views  of  tlie  river  amply  repay  the  small  trouble  it  requires  to 
gain  them.  And  Prospect  Mountain,  or  North  Hill,  which  is  its  tru« 
name,  commands  a  panorama  so  extensive  and  charming  that  an 
ascent  of  it  should  be  accounted  one  of  the  great  privileges  of  this 
route  to  the  mountains.  The  surveyors  tell  us  that  it  stands,  higher 
over  the  village  than  Red  Hill  over  Centre  Harbor ;  yet  there  is  a 
very  good  wagon  road  to  the  summit.  The  landscape,  if  less  lovely 
in  one  or  two  respects  than  that  from  Red  Hill,  has  more  variety,  and 
includes  more  pastoral  beauty.  The  whole  extent  of  Winnipiseogee 
in  its  broadest  pai-t  is  visible,  and  the  arms  and  creeks,  which  stretch 
out  from  its  body  like  claws  and  antennae,  seem  to  be  separate  water 
gems  scattered  upon  the  landscape.  The  ^dew  of  it,  however,  as  a 
whole,  is  not  nearly  so  fine  as  from  Red  Hill,  where  the  carvings  and 
adorning  of  its  curiously  scalloped  shores  are  seen.  Directly  beneath 
us  are  the  two  Squam  lakes.  And  the  track  of  the  Pemigewasset, 
here  and  there  receiving  a  tributary  stream  through  beautifully 
guarded  passes  on  the  west,  may  be  followed  along  widening 
meadows,  from  the  distant  sbpes  that  give  birth  to  it,  to  the  broader 
and  lordly  current  below,  where  it  joins  its  cold  tide  with  the  warmer 
stream  thai,  flows  from  Wumipiseogee,  and  takes  the  name  of  Merri 
mack. 

I  felt  the  cool  breath  of  the  North, 

Between  me  and  the  sun, 
O'er  deep,  siill  lake,  and  ridgy  earth, 

I  saw  the  cloud-shades  run. 
Before  ine,  stretched  for  glistening  mUes, 

Lay  mountain-girdled  Squam ; 
Like  gi-een-winged  birds,  the  leafy  isles 

Upon  its  bosom  swam.  , 


Aud,  glimmering  through  the  sun-haze  warm, 

Far  as  the  eye  could  roam. 
Dark  billows  of  an  earthquake  storm 

Beflecked  with  clouds  like  foam, 
Their  vales  in  misty  shadow  deep. 

Their  rugged  peaks  in  shine. 
I  saw  the  mountain  ranges  sweep 

The  horizon's  northern  line. 
14* 


88  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

There  towered  Chocorua's  peak ;  and  west, 

Moosehillock's  woods  were  seen, 
,  With  many  a  nameless  slide-scarred  crest 

And  pine-dark  gorge  between. 
Beyond  them,  like  a  sun-rimmed  cloud, 

The  great  Notch  mountains  shone, 
Watched  over  by  the  solemn-browed 

And  awful  face  of  stone ! 

It  is  indeed  a  grand  view  of  Lafayette  and  Mount  Cannon  which 
Prospect  Hill  affords.  And  some  portions  of  each  of  the  ten  counties 
of  New  Hampshire  are  within  the  range  of  our  vision  there.  It  is  a 
(question  if  the  dome  of  Mount  Wasliington  itself  is  not  visible  on  the 
north.  Several  of  the  noblest  isolated  mountains  of  the  state  show 
themselves  to  the  best  advantage, — the  dark  mass  of  MooseliiUock 
heaving  hke  a  whale  just  beginning  to  dive,  the  amber  colored  sides 
of  the  desolate  Cardigan,  the  blue  declivities  of  the  true  Kiarsarge 
sloping  off  on  the  south  in  Merrimack  county,  and  far  below,  the  pale 
shapes  which  tell  us  where 

Green-tufted,  oak-shaded,  by  Amoskeag's  fall 
The  twin  Uncanoonucs  rise  stately  and  tall. 

There  are  many  persons  who  cannot  make  excursions  that  require 
horseback  riding.  The  view  from  Mount  Prospect  should  be  espec- 
ially noticed  for  their  benefit,  since  it  can  be  thoroughly  enjoyed  at 
the  cost  of  no  more  exertion  than  a  wagon  ride,  and  an  absence  of 
four  hours  from  the  hotel. 

Who  that  has  driven  on  a  clear  day  from  Plymouth  to  Franconia 
can  ever  forget  the  ride  ?  Our  most  vivid  impressions  of  its  beauty 
are  derived  from  a  ride  over  it  in  the  early  summer,  a  year  or  two 
since.  "  The  gold  and  the  crystal  cannot  equal  it ;  and  the  exchange 
of  it  shall  not  be  for  jewels  of  fine  gold."  It  was  a  perfect  day  of 
June. 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  Heaven  -tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  time. 

And  over  it  softh'  her  warm  ear  lays: 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  89 

Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  gi-een, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice, 
And  there's  never  a  leaf  nor  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves. 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings. 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest, — 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best? 


It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  mountains  are  not  visited  during  the 
splendid  days  of  the  early  summer.  From  the  middle  of  June  to 
the  middle  of  July,  foliage  is  more  fresh ;  the  cloud  scenery  is  no- 
bler ;  the  meadow  grass  has  a  more  golden  color ;  the  streams  are 
usually  more  full  and  musical ;  and  there  is  a  larger  proportion  of 
the  "  long  light "  of  the  afternoon,  which  kindles  the  landscape  into 
the  richest  loveliness.  The  mass  of  visitors  to  the  White  Mountains 
go  during  the  dogdays,  and  leave  Avhen  the  finer  September  weather 
sets  in  with  its  prelude  touches  of  the  October  splendor.  In  August 
there  are  fewer  clear  skies  ;  there  is  more  fog  ;  the  meadows  are 
apparelled  in  more  sober  green  ;  the  highest  rocky  crests  may  be 
wrapped  in  mists  for  days  in  succession  ;  and  a  traveller  has  fewer 
chances  of  making  acquaintance  with  a  bracing  mountain  breeze. 
The  latter  half  of  June  is  the  blossom  season  of  beauty  in  the  moun- 
tain districts  ;  the  first  half  of  October  is  the  time  of  its  full-hued 
fruitage. 

Let  us  hope  that  some  of  our  readers  will  find  opportunity  to  visit 
the  Pemigewasset  valley  before  the  first  of  July,  and  have  leisure 
enough  also  to  devote  a  day  or  two,  if  no  more,  to  the  village  of 
Campton.     Where  the  bees  persistently  congregate,  the  honey  must 


90  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

be  most  plentiful.  If  the  hovering  and  return  of  the  artist  bees  is  a 
decisive  test,  the  nectar  of  beauty  must  be  secreted  near  Camptoo 
on  the  Pemigewasset,  and  North  Conway  on  the  Saco,  more  freely 
than  along  any  other  of  the  usually  travelled  stage-routes  of  the 
mountains. 

Some  one  has  described  the  White  Mountains  as  "  the  beam  of  a 
pair  of  scales  which  drop  some  thirty  miles,  and  hold  on  the  East  the 
broad  valley  of  Conway,  balanced  on  the  West  by  the  charming  inter- 
vales of  Campton."  This  figure  would  be  more  applicable  for  con- 
trasting the  position  and  beauty  of  the  scenery  around  Bethel  and 
North  Conway.  These  villages  do  hang  poised  in  position  and  in 
loveliness  from  the  curving  beam  of  the  Mount  Washington  range, — 
the  first  depending  from  the  eastern  end  of  the  chain  on  the  line  oi 
the  Androscoggin,  and  the  last  from  the  Avestern  end  on  the  line  of 
the  Saco.  Campton  is  not  tethered  to  the  Mount  Washington  chain, 
but  it  may  fairly  be  compared  with  North  Conway  for  landscape 
charm.  It  hangs  a  little  lower  down  in  latitude,  and  some  artists 
have  maintained  that,  in  the  scale  of  beauty,  it  forces  North  Conway 
to  kick  the  beam.  Others  as  stoutly  deny  this  ;  and  we,  grateful 
alike  for  the  villages  and  artists,  have  no  desire  or  intention,  either 
to  adjust  or  mingle  in  the  dispute. 

Perhaps  it  is  fair  to  say  that  the  intervale  alone  in  Campton  is,  in 
proportion  to  its  extent,  more  picturesquely  effective  than  that  of 
North  Conway.  Being  finely  wooded,  and  better  united  to  the  bor- 
dering hills,  it  furnishes  perfectly  appropriate  and  beautiful  fore- 
grounds to  the  favorite  views  of  valley  and  mountains,  whose  flitting 
moods  of  superior  beauty  or  grandeur  have  been  promoted  by  riiany 
painters,  Mr.  Durand  and  ]Mr.  Gay  especially,  into  the  abiding 
charm  of  art.  The  windings  of  the  river  in  this  intervale,  wnth  the 
beauty,  variety,  and  abundance  of  its  trees,  makes  West  Campton 
rich  in  artists'  "  bits  "  of  the  utmost  grace.  Here,  some  elms,  bor- 
dering large  spaces  of  the  smooth  sward  with  green  domed  tops, 
evenly  poised  upon  their  single  columnar  trunks,  look,  as  an  archi- 
tectural friend  once  expressed  it,  like  unwalled  chapter-houses  to  the 


THE   PEMIGEW ASSET   VALLEY.  91 

cathedral  groves.  There,  Ave  find  a  sparkling  group  of  varied  foliage 
which  we  maj  call  voluptuous,  in  which  the  golden  plumes  of  the 
ash  shine,  perhaps,  against  the  brown  and  olive  darkness  of  the  oak, 
and  the  butternut's  pale  yellow  spray  mingles  with  the  shimmering 
gray  of  the  beech,  and  the  dull  purple  and  emerald  of  the  birch  and 
wild  cherry. 

A  visit  to  a  place  like  Campton  might  be  well  employed  in  making 
the  eye  more  sensitive  to  the  colors  and  the  characters  of  trees. 
Every  painter  sees  how  striking  are  the  contrasts  of  hue  between  the 
oak  and  the  beech,  the  elm  and  the  lime,  the  aspen  and  the  maple. 
They  are  not  merely  different  kinds  of  green,  but  they  take  on  abso- 
lutely different  colors  as  a  subtile  effluence  around  their  green,  which 
is  revealed  to  a  careful  and  sensitive  sight.  And  every  one  who 
delicately  enjoys  the  colors  on  the  hills,  in  the  hour  before  sunset, 
finds  that  a  mountain  slope  arrayed  in  birches  dyes  itself  in  floods 
of  different  splendor  from  one  that  is  covered  with  larger  or  mixed 
growths  of  forest.  Many  persons  who  go  to  the  mountains  cannot 
distinguish  a  maple  from  a  beech,  an  aspen  from  a  birch,  or  a  fir- 
tree  from  a  pine.  The  pleasures  of  taste,  as  well  as  the  pleasures  of 
knowledge,  begin  and  increase  Avith  the  power  of  detecting  fine  differ- 
ences, and  of  nicely  discerning  the  individuality  of  objects,  A  man 
who  should  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  architecture  of  trees — 
the  articulation  of  their  boughs  and  branches,  the  angles  or  curves  or 
arches  which  they  describe,  and  which  give  each  species  a  distinct 
character — the  manner  in  which  their  foliage  is  set  and  massed,  in 
which  it  plays  with  the  wind  or  is  swayed  by  it,  and  the  hues  in  Avhich 
their  beauty  or  strength  is  draped,  Tvould  find  any  landscape  that  pre- 
sents a  variety  of  trees  perpetually  attractive. 
-^^2-7  And  the  various  hues  of  trees  are  no  more  marked  than  their 
-''  various  tones.  The  oak  roars  when  a  high  wind  wrestles  with  it ; 
the  beech  shrieks ;  the  elm  sends  forth  a  long,  deep  groan  ;  the  ash 
pours  out  moans  of  thrilling  anguish.  Perhaps  a  mind  curious  for 
analogies  might  detect  some  relation  not  entirely  fanciful  between  the 
colors  of  trees  in  full  sunlight,  and  their  tones  when  thoroughly  wak- 


92  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

ened  by  the  wind.  Walter  Scott  once  maintained  that  something 
might  be  done  by  the  union  of  poetry  and  music  to  imitate  those 
voices,  giving  a  different  measure  to  the  oak,  the  pine,  and  the 
willow.  Our  own  poet,  James  Russell  Lowell,  has  written  some 
charming  interpretations  of  the  characters  of  our  prominent  trees. 
Let  us  listen  to  some  of  his  verses  on  "  The  Birch  "  : — 

Rippling  through  thy  branches  goes  the  sunshine, 
Among  thy  leaves  that  palpitate  forever; 
Ovid  in  thee  a  pining  Nymph  liad  prison'd 
Tlie  soul  once  of  some  tremulous  inland  river, 
Quivering  to  tell  her  woe,  but,  ah!  dumb,  dumb  forever. 

Upon  the  brink  of  some  wood -nestled  lakelet, 

Thy  foliage  like  the  tresses  of  a  Dryad, 

Dripping  about  thy  slim  white  stem,  wliose  shadow 

Slopes  quivering  down  tlie  waters  dusky  quiet, 

Thou  shrinkst,  as  on  her  bath's  edge  would  some  startled  Dryad 

Thou  art  the  go-between  of  rustic  lovers; 
Thy  white  bark  has  their  secrets  in  its  keeping; 
Reuben  writes  here  the  happy  name  of  Patience, 
And  thy  lithe  boughs  hang  murmuring  and  weeping 
Above  her,  as  she  steals  the  mystery  from  thy  keeping. 

Thou  art  to  me  like  m}^  belovdd  maiden, 

So  frankly  coy,  so  full  of  trembly  confidences; 

Thy  shadow  scarce  seems  shade,  thy  pattering  leaflets 

Sprinkle  their  gathered  sunshine  o'er  my  senses, 

And  Nature  gives  me  all  her  summer  confidences. 

Whether  mj^  heart  with  hope  or  sorrow  tremble, 
Thou  sj-mpathizest  still;  wild  and  unquiet, 
I  fling  me  down,  thy  ripple,  like  a  river, 
Flows  valley-ward,  where  calmness  is,  and  by  it 
My  heart  is  floated  down  into  the  land  of  quiet. 

In  many  places  on  the  river  banks,  or  in  the  dried  channels  of 
former  freshets,  and  along  the  streams  that  feed  the  Pemigewasset, 
plentiful  studies  are  found  of  tufts  and  beds  of  grasses,  sedgy  banks, 
weeds  and  flowering  plants  of  the  most  splendid  variety.  Also  fine 
studies  of  "  interiors,"  with  wild  passages  of  mountain  brook  and 
'cascade,  can  be  made  in  some  of  the  many  ravines  having  their  out- 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  93 

lets  here.  Surrounded  with  such  beauty  as  Campton  presents, 
Goethe's  subtle  and  seductive  poem  "  Ganymede "  interprets  the 
feehng,  half  mystic,  half  voluptuous,  which  Nature  inspires  : — 

How  with  morning  splendor 

Thou  round  upon  me  glowest, 

Spring  beloved! 

With  tliousandfold  love-rapture 

How  through  my  heart  thrills 

Thy  warmth  everlasting, 

Holy  and  precious, 

Infinite  Nature. 

Could  I  but  compass  thee 

Within  these  arms ! 

Lo!  on  thy  breast  here 

Prone  I  languish; 

And  thy  flowei's  and  thy  grass 

Press  themselves  on  my  heart. 

Thou  coolst  the  torturing 

Thirst  of  my  bosom, 

Love  breathing  Slorning  wind ! 

Calleth  the  nightingale 

Loving  to  me  from  the  misty  vale. 

I  come,  I  come; 

Ah!  whither  away! 

Up!    Upward  it  draws! 

The  clouds  are  hovering 

Downward,  the  clouds  they 

Condescend  to  passionate  yearning! 

Here !     Here ! 

In  your  embraces 

Upward ! 

Embraced  and  embracing, 

Up !    Up  to  thy  bosom. 

All  loving  Father! 

Those  that  know  this  remarkable  poem  in  the  German  will  recognize, 
we  are  sure,  in  the  rhythm  and  faithfulness  of  this  version,  never 
published  before,  the  blended  delicacy  and  vigor  of  a  master's  touch. 
We  have  spoken  on  a  former  page  of  the  beauty  of  the  Welch 
Mountain,  which  forms  the  immediate  background  of  the  river  view 
from  Campton  village.     Its  general  shape  is  extremely  picturesque. 

15 


94 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


Being  nearly  destitute  of  forest  covering,  and  showing  large  masses 
of  bare  quartz,  it  presents  very  beautiful  and  striking  harmonies  of 
the  grays  with  neutral  hues  of  blue  and  white,  and  at  sunrise  and 
sunset  exhibits  proportional  increase   of  splendor.     The    Sandwich 


^^ 


^'i^^^S 


range,  too,  affords  ample  and  important  subjects  to  the  dwellers  in 
Campton  for  the  enjoyment  and  study  of  mountain  color  and  form. 
In  all  lights  they  are  picturesque  if  not  beautiful ;  but  there  is  no 
limit  to  the  softness,  purity,  and  magnificence  of  color  with  which  the 
setting  sun  sometimes  floods  their  broad  and  rugged  sides. 

Of  course  the  Franconia  mountains  form  one  of  the  leading  attrac- 
tions in  the  landscape  here.  West  Campton  being  the  southernmost 
point  in  the  valley  from  which  they  can  be  advantageously  seen.     As 


THE  PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  96 

they  are  visible  from  the  meadow  as  well  as  from  the  hill-sides,  the 
choice  of  several  different  combinations  of  middle  and  foregrounds  is 
offered  to  all  artists,  and  to  those  Avho  love  complex  and  proportioned 
beauty  in  the  landscapes  near  their  summer  resting-place.  We  have 
known  artists  to  say  that  the  marvellous  middle  ground  of  belt  and 
copse,  and  meadow  and  river,  back  of  which  the  three  sharp  spires 
of  Lafayette  and  his  associates  tower,  to  face  the  heavier  rocky  wall 
which  forms  the  western  rampart  of  the  Notch,  is  the  most  enchant- 
ing scene  of  the  kind  which  this  valley  and  that  of  the  Saco  can  offer. 
In  common  daylight  there  is  very  little  variety  or  picturesqueness 
in  their  aspect.  No  doubt  persons  who  have  seen  mountains  only 
under  a  dull  sky,  or  through  a  very  clear  air,  on  a  bright  day,  be- 
tween the  hours  of  nine  and  four,  suppose  that  all  descriptions  of 
their  splendor  are  either  deliberately  manufactured  for  the  sake  of 
fine  writing,  or  illusions  of  fancy,  proofs  that 

we  receive  but  what  we  give, 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  Nature  live. 

Eut  let  them  study  the  Notch  mountains  of  Franconia  from  the 
school-house  in  Campton,  by  the  morning  or  evening  light.  They 
differ  then  from  their  ordinary  aspects  as  much  as  rubies  and  sap- 
phires from  pebbles.  Sec  the  early  day  pour  down  the  upper  slopes 
of  the  three  easterly  pyramids  ;  then  upon  the  broad  forehead  of  the 
Profile  Mountain,  kindling  its  gloomy  brows  with  radiance,  and  melt- 
ing the  azure  of  its  temples  into  pale  violet ;  and  falhng  lower,  stain- 
ing with  rose  tints  the  cool  mists  of  the  ravines,  till  the  Notch  seems 
to  expand,  and  the  dark  and  rigid  sides  of  it  fall  away  as  they  lighten, 
and  recede  in  soft  perspective  of  buttressed  Avail  and  flushed  tower, — 
and  then  say  whether,  to  an  eye  that  can  never  be  satiated  with  the  blue 
of  a  hyacinth,  the  purple  of  a  fuschia,  and  the  blush  of  a  rose,  the  gor- 
geousness  ascribed  to  the  mountains  is  a  mere  exercise  of  rhetoric, 
or  a  fiction  of  the  fancy.  Or,  towards  evening  of  midsummer,  at 
the  same  spot,  see  the  great  hills  assume  a  deeper  blue  or  purple  ; 
aee  the  burly  Cannon  Mountain  stand,  a  dark  abutment,  at  the  gate 


96 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


of  the  Notch,  unlighted  except  by  its  own  pallor ;  and,  as  the  sun 
goes  down,  watch  his  last  beams  of  crimson  or  orange  cover  with 
undevastating  fire  the  pyramidal  peaks  of  the  three  great  Haystacks, 


and  then  decide  whether  language  can  recall  or  report  the  pomp  of 
the  spectacle,  any  more  than  the  cold  colors  of  art  can  exaggerate 
what  the  Creator  writes  there  in  chaste  and  glowing  flame. 

Then,  as  if  the  earth  and  sea  had  been 
Dissolved  into  one  lake  of  fire,  were  seen 
Those  mountains  towering,  as  from  waves  of  flame, 
Around  the  vaporous  sun,  from  which  there  came 
The  inmost  purple  spirit  of  light,  and  made 
Their  very  peaks  transparent. 

Have  our  readers  considered  this  testimony  of  Mr.  Ruskin  ?     "  In 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  97 

some  sense,  a  person  who  has  never  seen  the  rose-color  of  the  rays  of 
dawn  crossing  a  blue  mountain  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  away,  can 
hardly  be  said  to  know  what  tenderness  in  color  means  at  all.  Bright 
tenderness  he  may,  indeed,  see  in  the  sky  or  in  a  flower,  but  this 
grave  tenderness  of  the  far-away  hill-purples  he  cannot  conceive." 

And  now  with  the  mountains  in  our  mind's  eye,  from  a  point  so 
favorable  as  Campton  for  enjoying  their  beauty,  let  us,  before  mak- 
ing a  closer  acquaintance  with  the  Notch,  raise  the  question  of  their 
use.  Nothing  is  sublimer  to  the  senses  than  a  great  mountain, 
though  many  other  objects  and  forces  of  Nature  are  immeasurably 
more  sublime  to  thought.  A  structure  like  Illimani  or  Aconcagua  of 
the  Andes,  towering  nearly  five  miles  above  the  contented  clods,  bear- 
ing up  the  pine  to  look  down  upon  the  palm,  defying  the  force  of 
gravitation. 

Standing  alone  'twixt  the  earth  and  the  heavens, 
Heir  of  the  sunset  and  herald  of  morn, 

thrills  the  eye  by  the  heroic  energy  with  which  the  soaring  mass 
seems  to  be  vital,  and  by  which  of  its  own  will  it  cleaves  the  air  and 
converses  with  the  sky.  And  yet  what  insignificant  things  they  are, 
after  all,  when  we  measure  them  by  our  thought,  in  their  relation  to 
the  surface  and  depth  of  the  globe  I  On  the  rim  of  a  race-course  a 
mile  in  circuit,  if  it  could  be  lifted  up  as  a  great  wheel,  a  pebble- 
stone three  inches  high  would  be  larger  in  proportion  than  Mount 
Lafayette  is,  as  a  bunch  on  the  planet  itself.  The  thickness  of  a 
sheet  of  writing  paper  on  an  artificial  sphere  a  foot  in  diameter, 
represents  the  eminence  of  the  mountain  chains.  They  are  no  more 
than  the  cracks  in  the  varnish  of  such  a  ball.  The  roughnesses  on 
the  skin  of  an  Havana  orange  are  more  marked  than  Chimborazo, 
Kinchin-Junga,  and  the  valley  of  the  Jordan,  are  upon  the  earth. 
And  yet  these  trifling  elevations  and  scratches  reveal  the  heights  and 
soundings  of  our  knowledge  of  the  planet. 

What  do  we  know  of  the  four  thousand  miles  radius  of  the  earth  ? 
What  do  we  know  of  the  air  above  the  highest  mountain  tops  ?     It 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


grows  rarer  as  we  ascend  ;  and  but  a  few  miles  above  the  highest  of 
the  Himalayas,  no  doubt,  there  is  blackness  of  darkness,  except  to  an 
eye  that  should  turn  directly  to  the  sun.  The  domain  of  light  and  of 
knowledge  lies  within  this  petty  film,  whose  top  is  nearly  touched  by 
the  little  mountain  heads  that  slightly  roughen  the  roundness  of  the 


world.  Peel  a  pellicle  from  the  planet,  thinner  in  proportion  than  the 
thinnest  of  the  laminae  of  an  onion,  and  all  our  science  and  wisdom, 
and  all  life,  too,  will  be  stripped  off. 
'T  Yet,  think  of  the  uses  of  the  little  inequalities  that  we  call  moun- 
tains. Think  of  their  service  to  the  intellect.  They  are  not  excres- 
cences on  the  globe's  surface, — ridges  of  superfluous  matter  bolted 
upon  the  original  smoothness  of  our  orb.     Many  of  our  readers  pos- 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  99 

Bibly  have  seen  pictures  of  mountains  that  look  like  mounds  of  putty, 
as  though  they  had  been  stuck  upon  the  landscape, — as  though  they 
had  been  thumbed  into  shape,  and  might  be  thumbed  into  any  other 
form.  But  the  mountains  were  heaved  up  from  the  planet's  crust. 
It  is  in  large  measure  by  their  help  that  the  science  of  geology  has 
advanced  during  the  last  century  with  rapid  strides.  They  tell  us 
something  of  what  the  earth's  crust  is  made  of,  and  the  texture  and 
thickness  of  its  outer  cuticles.  By  looking  up,  a  man  gains  the  same 
knowledge  that  he  would  acquire  by  sinking  a  mine  of  corresponding 
depth.  The  highest  mountains  are  inverted  shafts, — upspringing 
wedges  of  rock,  flinging  the  garment  of  soil  away,  tilting  and  sepa- 
rating the  strata  through  which  they  break,  and  standing  bare  for 
the  scrutiny  of  science.  Thus  the  highest  mountain  crests  are  tide 
lines  of  the  force  that  slumbers  in  the  planet's  bosom.  The  most 
stiff  and  resistant  features  of  the  Avorld  to  our  senses,  they  are  really 
the  outbursts  of  the  globe's  passion,  the  witnesses  of  a  pent  fury 
that  may  yet  break  forth  in  violence  not  yet  conceived,  before  which 
Ossa  indeed  is  "  but  a  wart,"  and  Orizaba  a  mere  toy. 

Well  has  it  been  said_,  that  "  mountains  are  to  the  rest  of  the  body 
of  the  earth  what  violent  muscular  action  is  to  the  body  of  man. 
The  muscles  and  tendons  of  its  anatomy  are,  in  the  mountain,  brought 
out  Avith  fierce  and  convulsive  energy,  full  of  expression,  passion,  and 
strength  ;  the  plains  and  the  lower  hills  are  the  repose  and  the  effort- 
less motion  of  the  frame,  when  its  muscles  lie  dormant  and  concealed 
beneath  the  lines  of  its  beauty,  yet  ruling  those  lines  in  their  every 
undulation."  This  vigor,  this  fierce  vitality,  in  which  they  had  their 
origin,  is  the  source  of  much  of  the  exhilaration  which  the  sight  of 
their  Avild  outlines  inspires,  even  when  tlie  beholder  is  unconscious  of 
it.  The  waves  of  flame,  that  drove  up  the  great  Avedges  of  granite  in 
New  Hampshire  through  ribs  of  sienite  and  gneiss,  bolted  them  with 
traps  of  porphyry  and  quartz,  crusted  them  Avith  mica  schist,  and 
cross  riveted  them  with  spikes  of  iron,  lead,  and  tin,  suggest  their 
power  in  the  strength  Avith  which  the  mountains  are  organized  into 
the  landscape,  just  as  the  force  of  a  man's  temperament  is  shown  in 
rhe  lines  of  his  jaAv  and  nose. 


100  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

The  centie-fire  lieiives  underneath  the  earth, 
And  the  earth  changes  hke  a  human  face; 
The  molten  ore  bursts  up  amonj;  the  rocks, 
Winds  into  the  stone's  heart,  outbranches  bright 
In  hidden  mines,  spots  barren  river-beds. 
Crumbles  into  fine  sand  where  sunbeams  bask — 
God  joys  therein!     The  wroth  sea's  waves  are  edged 
With  foam,  white  as  the  bitten  lip  of  Hate. 
Wlien,  in  the  solitary  waste,  strange  groups 
Of  young  volcanoes  come  up,  cj-clops-like. 
Staring  together  with  their  eyes  on  flame; — 
God  tastes  a  pleasure  in  their  uncouth  pride. 

The  uses  of  mountain  ranges,  in  relation  to  the  supply  of  water^ 
are  so  evident  that  we  need  not  dwell  long  upon  them.  It  is  plain 
that  we  could  not  live  upon  the  globe  in  any  state  of  civilization,  if 
the  surface  had  been  finished  as  a  monotonous  prairie.  Were  it  not 
for  the  great  swells  of  land,  the  ridges  and  crests  of  rock,  the  wrin- 
kles, curves,  and  writhings  of  the  strata,  how  could  springs  of  Avater 
be  formed  ?  what  drainage  could  a  country  have  ?  how  could  the 
rains  be  hoarded  in  fountains  and  lakes  ?  Avhere  would  be  the  store- 
houses of  the  snow  and  hail  ?  "  Every  fountain  and  river,  from  the 
inch-deep  streamlet  that  crosses  the  village  lane  in  trembling  clear- 
ness, to  the  massy  and  silent  march  of  the  everlasting  multitude  of 
waters  in  Amazon  or  Ganges,  owe"  their  play  and  purity  and  poAver, 
to  the  ordained  elevations  of  the  earth."  Ah,  how  does  the  aqueduct 
masonry  of  Rome,  or  the  Croton  and  Cochituate  system  of  supply  for 
cities,  compare  with  Nature's  chain  of  reservoirs, — the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, the  Andes,  and  the  Alleghanies,  and  the  service-pipes  she  gul- 
lies in  their  granite  for  pastures,  towns,  cities,  and  states  ! 

The  richest  beauty  that  invests  the  mountains  suggests  this  branch 
of  their  utiUty.  The  mists  that  settle  round  them,  above  which  their 
cones  sometimes  float,  aerial  islands  in  a  stagnant  sea ;  the  veils  of 
rain  that  trail  along  them  ;  the  crystal  snow  that  makes  the  light 
twinkle  and  dance  ;  the  sombre  thunder-heads  that  invest  them  with 
Sinai-like  aAve,  are  all  connected  with  their  mission  as  the  hydraulic 
distributors  of  the  Avorld, — the  mighty  troughs  that  apportion  to  the 
'and  the  moisture  which  the  noiseless  solar  suction  is  ever  lifting  from 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET  VALLEY.  10] 

6he  sea.     Their  peaks  are  the  cradles,  their  furrows  the  first  play- 
grounds, of  the  great  rivers  of  the  earth. 

It  is  an  equally  obvious  truth,  that  mountain  chains  diversify  cli- 
mates. By  their  condensing  effect  upon  the  AVet  sea-winds,  they 
make  some  districts  more  moist  than  others,  and  so  variegate  fertil 
ities  and  the  products  of  vegetation.  One  side  of  a  high  mountain 
riuge  receives  much  more  rain  than  the  other.  For  days  together 
the  valley  of  the  Po  is  never  clouded,  because  the  Alps,  shrouded  in 
dense  fogs,  are  drawing  oif  the  waters  from  the  Avet  winds  before 
they  reach  the  Italian  plains.  And  the  Himalayas  force  the  summer 
monsoons  to  wring  out  their  bounty  so  thoroughly  upon  their  south- 
erly sides,  that  the  steppes  of  inland  Asia  suffer  to  compensate  for 
the  bounteous  rivers  and  rich  vegetation  of  the  Indian  peninsula. 
The  Pacific  shore  under  the  loftiest  Andes  is  very  dry  and  compara- 
tively barren,  because  the  trade  winds,  that  blow  across  and  enrich 
the  countries  of  the  Amazon  from  the  Atlantic,  are  robbed  of  most 
of  their  bounty  in  scaling  those  cold  summits  from  the  East,  and 
have  little  to  disburse  upon  the  western  slopes.  We  are  told  that  if 
a  mountain  system  could  be  upheaved  in  Sahara,  the  hot  breezes  that 
sweep  over  it  would  be  chilled  and  compelled  to  disgorge  their  booty, 
— so  that  the  wilderness,  sprinkled  with  rain  and  veined  with  rivers, 
would  in  time  '•'  blossom  as  the  rose."  As  to  our  supply  of  water 
and  our  irrigation,  we  must,  with  David,  "  lift  up  our  eyes  to  the 
hills,  from  whence  cometh  our  help." 

Mr.  Ruskin  notes  it  as  one  of  the  prominent  uses  of  mountains, 
that  they  cause  perpetual  change  in  the  soils  of  the  earth.  The 
physical  geographers  assure  us  that  if  the  whole  matter  of  the  Alps 
were  shovelled  out  over  Europe,  the  level  of  the  continent  would  be 
raised  about  twenty  feet.  And  this  process  of  levelling  is  continually 
goir.g  on.  By  a  calculation,  which  he  made  in  the  valley  of  Cha- 
mouni,  Mr.  Ruskin  believes  that  one  of  the  insignificant  runlets,  only 
four  mches  wide  and  four  inches  deep,  carries  down  from  Mont  Blanc 

16 


102  THE   AVHITE   HILLS. 

eighty  tons  of  granite  dust  a  year  ;  at  which  rate  of  theft  at  least 
eighty  thousand  tons  of  the  substance  of  that  mountain  must  be 
yearly  transformed  into  drift  sand  by  the  streams,  and  distributed 
upon  the  plains  below.  On  Whiteface  Mountain,  of  the  Sandwich 
group,  a  slide  took  place  in  1820,  which  hurled  down  huge  blocks  of 
granite,  sienite,  quartz,  felspar,  and  trap-rocks,  and  cut  a  deep 
ravine  in  the  side  of  the  mountain,  several  miles  in  extent.  But 
compensation  was  made  in  part  for  its  destructive  fury.  An  exten- 
sive meadow  at  the  base,  which  had  borne  only  wild,  coarse  grasses, 
was  rendered  more  fertile  by  the  fine  sediment,  here  and  there  four 
or  five  feet  in  depth,  that  was  distributed  upon  it,  and  now  produces 
excellent  grass  and  white  clover.  Take  a  century  or  two  into  ac- 
count, and  we  find  the  mountains  fertilizing  the  soil  by  the  minerals 
which  they  restore  to  it  to  compensate  the  wastes  of  the  harvests. 
"  The  hills,  which,  as  compared  with  living  beings,  seem  everlasting, 
are,  in  truth,  as  perishing  as  they.  Its  veins  of  flowing  fountain 
weary  the  mountain  heart,  as  the  crimson  pulse  does  ours  ;  the  natu- 
ral force  of  the  iron  crag  is  abated  in  its  appointed  time,  like  the 
strength  of  the  sinews  in  a  human  old  age  ;  and  it  is  but  the  lapse 
of  the  longer  years  of  decay  which,  in  the  sight  of  its  Creator,  dis- 
tinguishes the  mountain  range  from  the  moth  and  the  worm." 

We  see,  then,  in  looking  at  a  chain  of  lofty  hills,  and  in  thinking 
of  their  perpetual  waste  in  the  service  of  the  lowlands,  that  the 
moral  and  physical  worlds  are  built  on  the  same  pattern.  They 
represent  the  heroes  and  all-beneficent  genius.  They  receive  upon 
their  heads  and  sides  the  larger  baptisms  from  the  heavens,  not  to  be 
selfish  with  their  riches,  but  to  give, — to  give  all  that  is  poured  upon 
them, — yes,  and  something  of  themselves  wdth  every  stream  and  tide. 
When  we  look  up  at  old  Lafayette,  or  along  the  eastern  slopes  of 
Mount  Washington,  we  find  that  the  lines  of  noblest  expression  are 
those  which  the  torrents  have  made,  where  soil  has  been  torn  out, 
and  rocks  have  been  grooved,  and  ridges  have  been  made  more  ner- 
vous, and  the  Avails  of  ravines  have  been  channelled  for  noble  pencil- 
lings  of  shadow,  by  the  waste  of  the  mountain  in  its  patient  suffering. 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET  VALLEY.  103 

in  its  gala  days  of  sunlight  the  artist  finds  that  its  glory  is  its  char- 
acter. All  its  losses  are  glorified  then  into  expression.  The  great 
mountains  rise  in  the  landscape  as  heroes  and  prophets  in  history, 
ennobled  by  what  they  have  given,  sublime  in  the  expressions  of 
struggle  and  pain,  invested  with  the  richest  draperies  of  light,  be- 
cause their  brows  have  been  torn,  and  their  cheeks  been  furrowed  by 
toils  and  cares  in  behalf  of  districts  below.  Upon  the  mountains  is 
written  the  law,  and  in  their  grandeur  is  displayed  the  fulfilment 
of  it,  that  perfection  comes  through  sufiering. 

Let  us  again  avail  ourselves  of  Mr.  Ruskin's  help  in  unfolding  the 
relations  of  mountains  to  changes  of  the  air.  "  Change  would,  of 
course,  have  been  partly  caused  by  differences  in  soils  and  vegeta- 
tion, even  if  the  earth  had  been  level ;  but  to  a  far  less  extent  than 
it  is  now  by  the  chains  of  hills,  which,  exposing  on  one  side  their 
masses  of  rock  to  the  full  heat  of  the  sun,  (increased  by  the  angle  at 
which  the  rays  strike  on  the  slope,)  and  on  the  other  casting  a  soft 
shadow  for  leagues  over  the  plains  at  their  feet,  divide  the  earth  not 
only  into  districts,  but  into  climates,  and  cause  perpetual  currents  of 
air  to  traverse  their  passes,  and  ascend  or  descend  their  ravines, 
altering  both  the  temperature  and  nature  of  the  air  as  it  passes,  in  a 
thousand  difierent  ways  ;  moistening  it  with  the  spray  of  their  water- 
falls, sucking  it  down  and  beating  it  hither  and  thither  in  the  pools 
of  their  torrents,  closing  it  within  clefts  and  caves,  where  the  sun- 
beams never  reach,  till  it  is  as  cold  as  November  mists,  then  send- 
ing it  forth  again  to  breathe  softly  across  the  slopes  of  velvet  fields, 
or  to  be  scorched  among  sunburnt  shales  and  grassless  crags  ;  then 
drawing  it  back  in  moaning  swirls  through  clefts  of  ice,  and  up  into 
dewy  wreaths  above  the  snow-fields  ;  then  piercing  it  with  strange 
else  trie  darts  and  flashes  of  mountain  fire,  and  tossing  it  high  in  fan- 
tastic  storm-cloud,  as  the  dried  grass  is  tossed  by  the  mower,  only 
sufiering  it  to  depart  at  last,  when  chastened  and  pure,  to  refresh  the 
faded  air  of  the  far-ofi"  plains." 

But  we  come  to  the  highest  use  which  mountains  serve  when  we 


104  THE  WHITE  HILLS. 

speak  of  their  beauti/.  No  farm  in  Co(5s  countj  has  been  a  tithe  so 
serviceable  as  the  cone  of  Mount  Washington,  with  the  harvests  of 
color  that  have  been  reaped  from  it  for  the  canvas  of  artists,  or  for 
the  joy  of  visitors.  Think  of  the  loss  to  human  nature  if  the  summits 
of  Mont  Blanc  and  the  Jungfrau  could  be  levelled,  and  their  jagged 
sides,  sheeted  -with  snow  and  flaming  with  amethyst  and  gold,  should 
be  softened  by  the  sun  and  tilled  for  vines  and  corn.  Pour  out  over 
them  every  year  all  the  wine  that  is  wrung  from  the  vineyards  of 
Italy  and  France,  and  what  a  mere  sprinkling  in  comparison  with  the 
floods  of  amber,  of  purple,  and  of  more  vivid  and  celestial  flames  with 
which  no  wine  was  ever  pierced,  that  are  shed  over  them  by  one 
sunrise,  or  that  flow  up  their  cold  acchvities  at  each  clear  sunset  ? 
The  mountains  are  more  grand  and  inspiring  when  we  stand  at  the 
proper  distance  and  look  at  them,  than  when  we  look  from  them. 
Their  highest  call  is  to  be  resting-places  of  the  light,  the  staffs  from 
which  the  most  gorgeous  banners  of  morning  and  evening  are  dis- 
played. And  these  uses  we  may  observe  and  enjoy  among  the  mod- 
erate mountains  of  New  Hampshire.  They  are  huge  lay  figures  on 
which  Nature  shows  off  the  splendors  of  her  aerial  wardrobe.  She 
makes  them  wear  mourning  veils  of  shadow,  exquisite  lace-work  of 
distant  rain,  hoary  wigs  of  cloud,  the  blue  costume  of  northwest 
winds,  the  sallow  dress  of  sultry  southern  airs,  white  wrappers  of  dog- 
day  fog,  purple  and  scarlet  vests  of  sunset  light,  gauzy  films  of  moon- 
light, the  gorgeous  embroidery  of  autumn  chemistries,  the  flashing 
ermine  dropped  from  the  winter  sky,  and  the  glittering  jewelry 
strewn  over  their  snowy  vestments  by  the  cunning  fingers  of  the 
frost.  These  are  the  crops  which  the  intellect  and  heart  find  waiting 
and  waving  for  them,  without  any  effort  or  care  of  mortal  culture,  on 
the  upper  barrenness  of  the  hills. 

So  call  not  waste  that  barren  cone 
Above  the  floral  zone, 
Where  forests  starve: 
It  is  pure  use; — 
What  sheaves  like  those  which  here  we  glean  and  bind 
Of  a  celestial  Ceres  and  the  Muse? 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  10£ 

And  besides  the  beauty  of  light,  let  us  hear  Mr.  Ruskin  interpret 
the  charm  added  to  the  earth  by  the  geological  relation  of  the  hills  to 
the  country  that  is  dependent  from  them,  as  Avell  as  upon  them.  This 
beauty  is  also  part  of  their  use.  And  it  is  to  be  accredited  to  the  moun- 
tains as  no  small  benefaction  that  they  have  been  the  means  of  adding 
the  following  passage  to  the  treasury  of  English  literature  :  •'  The  great 
mountains  lift  the  lowlands  on  their  sides.  Let  the  reader  imagine, 
first,  the  appearance  of  the  most  varied  plain  of  some  richly  cultivated 
country  ;  let  him  imagine  it  dark  with  graceful  woods,  and  soft  with 
deepest  pastures  ;  let  him  fill  the  space  of  it,  to  the  utmost  horizon, 
with  innumerable  and  changeful  incidents  of  scenery  and  life  ;  lead- 
ing pleasant  streamlets  through  its  meadows,  strewuig  clusters  of  cot- 
tages beside  their  banks,  tracing  sweet  footpaths  through  its  avenues, 
and  animating  its  fields  with  happy  flocks,  and  slow  wandering  spots 
of  cattle  ;  and  when  he  has  wearied  himself  Avith  endless  imagining, 
and  left  no  space  Avithout  some  loveliness  of  its  own,  let  him  conceive 
all  this  great  plain,  with  its  infinite  treasures  of  natural  beauty  and 
happy  human  life,  gathered  up  in  God's  hands  from  one  edge  of  the 
horizon  to  the  other,  like  a  woven  garment ;  and  shaken  into  deep 
falling  folds,  as  the  robes  droop  from  a  king's  shoulders ;  all  its  bright 
rivei^s  leaping  into  cataracts  along  the  hollows  of  its  fall,  and  all  its 
forests  rearing  themselves  aslant  against  its  slopes,  as  a  rider  rears 
himself  back  when  his  horse  plunges  ;  and  all  its  villages  nestling 
themselves  into  the  new  windings  of  its  glens  ;  and  all  its  pastures 
thrown  into  steep  waves  of  greensward,  dashed  with  dew  along  the 
edges  of  their  folds,  and  sweeping  down  into  endless  slopes,  with  a 
cloud  here  and  there  lying  quietly,  half  on  the  grass,  half  in  the  air ; 
and  he  will  have  as  yet,  in  all  this  lifted  world,  only  the  foundation 
of  one  of  the  great  Alps.  And  whatever  is  lovely  in  the  lowland 
scenery  becomes  lovelier  in  this  change  :  the  trees  which  grew  heav- 
ily and  stiffly  from  the  level  line  of  plain  assume  strange  curves  of 
strength  and  grace  as  they  bend  themselves  against  the  mountain 
side  ;  they  breathe  more  freely,  and  toss  their  branches  more  care- 
lessly, as  each  climbs  higher,  looking  to  the  clear  light  above  the  top- 


106  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

most  leaves  of  its  brother  tree  ;  the  flowers  which  on  the  arable  plain 
fell  before  the  plough,  now  find  out  for  themselves  unapproachable 
places,  Avhere  year  by  year  they  gather  into  happier  fellowship,  and 
fear  no  evil  ;  and  the  streams  which  in  the  level  land  crept  in  dark 
eddies  by  unwholesome  banks,  now  move  in  showers  of  silver,  and  are 
clothed  with  rainbows,  and  bring  health  and  life  wherever  the  glance 
of  their  waves  can  reach." 


THE  FRANCONIA  NOTCH. 


Methinks  ye  take  luxurious  pleasure 
In  your  novel  western  leisure; 
So  cool  your  brows  and  freshly  blue, 
As  Time  had  nought  for  ye  to  do: 

While  we  enjoy  a  lingering  ray, 

Ye  still  o'ertop  the  western  day, 

Reposing  yonder  on  God's  croft 

Like  solid  stacks  of  hay; 

So  bold  a  line  as  ne'er  was  writ 

On  any  page  by  human  wit; 

The  forest  glows  as  if 

An  enemy's  camp-fires  shone 

Along  the  horizon. 

Or  the  day's  funeral  pyre 

Were  lighted  there; 

Edged  with  silver  and  with  gold, 

The  clouds  hang  o'er  in  damask  fold, 

And  with  such  depth  of  amber  light 

The  west  is  dight, 

Where  still  a  few  rays  slant, 

That  even  Heaven  seems  extravagant. 


The  Franconia  JSTotch,  to  which  the  lines  just  quoted  furnish  an 
appropriate  introduction,  is  a  pass  about  five  miles  in  extent  between 
one  of  the  western  walls  of  Lafayette  and  Mount  Cannon.  The  val- 
ley is  about  half  a  mile  wide  ;  and  the  narrow  district  thus  inclosed 


THE   PEMIGEVVASSET   VALLEY.  107 

-contains  more  objects  of  interest  to  the  mass  of  travellers,  than  any 
other  region  of  equal  extent  within  the  compass  of  the  usual  White 
Mountain  tour.  In  the  way  of  rock  sculpture  and  Avaterfalls,  it  is  a 
huge  museum  of  curiosities.  There  is  no  spot  usually  visited  in  any 
of  the  valleys,  where  the  senses  are  at  once  impressed  so  strongly  and 
so  pleasantly  with  the  wildness  and  the  freshness  which  a  stranger 
mstinctively  associates  with  mountain  scenery  in  New  Hampshire. 
There  is  no  other  spot  where  the  visitor  is  domesticated  amid  the 
most  savage  and  startling  forms  in  which  cliffs  and  forest  are  com- 
bined. And  yet  there  is  beauty  enough  intermixed  with  the  subUm- 
ity  and  the  wildness  to  make  the  scenery  permanently  attractive,  as 
well  as  grand  and  exciting. 

The  mountains  are  not  nearly  so  high,  or  so  noble  in  form,  around 
the  Franconia  Pass  as  around  the  Glen  ;  but  the  walls  are  much 
closer  and  more  precipitous.  The  place  where  the  Profile  House  is 
situated  would  be  much  more  properly  called  a  glen,  than  the  opening 
which  now  bears  that  name  by  the  Peabody  River,  at  the  base  of 
Mount  Washington.  There  is  no  Avild  and  frowning  rock  scenery 
either  visible  or  easily  accessible  from  the  Glen  House.  In  the  White 
Mountain  Notch  there  is  no  hotel  at  which  travellers  stay.  The 
Crawford  House  is  situated  just  outside  of  it.  And  if  there  were 
a  hotel  so  placed  within  it  as  to  command  its  vast  walls  and  its 
most  powerful  lines,  the  scene  would  be  too  terrific  and  desolate  to 
win  travellers  to  a  visit  of  many  days.  The  sides  of  the  White 
Mountain  Notch  are  many  hundred  feet  higher  than  the  highest  cliff 
of  Franconia.  But  they  are  torn  with  landslides  and  torrents  ;  there 
is  very  little  forest  growth  upon  them  ;  and  their  bare  sand  and 
gravel,  and  their  scarred,  grim  ledges,  overpower  and  awe  sufficiently 
to  overshadow  the  sense  of  pleasure  and  refreshment  which  one 
wants  to  feel  in  the  scenery  which  he  chooses  to  dwell  in  for  several 
weeks  or  days.  That  which  makes  the  White  Mountain  Notch  the 
most  astonishing  spectacle,  at  the  first  visit,  or  on  any  short  visit, 
wnich  the  whole  region  has  to  show,  makes  it  the  less  welcome  as  a 
place  to  stay  in. 


108  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

The  Franconia  Pass  is  not  oppressive.  Large  portions  of  the  wall 
opposite  the  Profile  House  are  even  more  sheer  than  the  Willey 
Mountain,  or  Mount  Webster,  in  the  great  Notch  ;  but  it  bends  in  a 
very  graceful  curve ;  the  purple  tinge  of  the  rocks  is  always  grateful 
to  the  eye  ;  and  instead  of  the  sandy  desolation  over  and  around  the 
Willey  House,  the  forest  foliage  that  clambers  up  the  sharp  acchvi- 
ties,  fastening  its  roots  in  the  crevices  and  resisting  the  torrents  and 
the  gale,  relieves  the  sombreness  of  the  bending  battlement  by  its 
color,  and  soften  its  sublimity  with  grace.  Every  one  who  has  been 
driven  into  Franconia  from  Bethlehem  or  from  Littleton,  and  who  has 
had  the  privilege  of  an  outside  seat  on  the  stage,  must  have  been 
struck  with  the  gentle  crescent  line  of  the  vast  outworks  pf  Lafayette, 
suggesting  the  sweep  of  a  tremendous  amphitheatre,  whose  walls  are 
alive  with  the  ascending  orders  of  the  wilderness. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  portions  of  the  steep  easterly  rampart 
of  the  Notch  is  the  Eagle  Cliff,  immediately  in  front  of  the  Profile 
House,  which  shoots  up  some  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the  road. 
It  derives  its  name  from  the  fact  that  a  pair  of  the  winged  "  Arabs 
of  the  air  "  have  kept  far  up  on  the  cliff  their  "  chamber  near  the 
sun."  It  is  a  charming  object  to  study.  Except  in  some  of  the 
great  ravines  of  the  Mount  Washington  range,  which  it  costs  great 
toil  to  reach,  there  is  no  such  exhibition  of  precipitous  rock  to  be 
found.  And  how  gracefully  it  is  festooned  with  the  climbing  birches, 
maples,  spruces,  and  vines !  There  are  those  to  whom  the  sight  of 
such  a  crag,  sharply  set  at  the  angle  of  a  mountain  wall,  is  one  of 
the  most  enjoyable  and  memorable  privileges  of  a  tour  among  the 
hills.  Such  will  find  the  best  points  for  appreciating  the  height  and 
majesty  of  the  Eagle  Cliff,  by  ascending  a  few  hundred  feet  on  the 
Cannon  Mountain  opposite,  or  by  walking  to  the  borders  of  Profile 
Lake  only  a  moderate  distance  from  the  hotel.  If  there  were  a  pleas- 
ant boat  on  this  small  sheet  of  water,  visitors  would  find  it  a  most 
delightful  use  of  the  hour  before  sunset,  to  see  from  the  furthei 
shore  the  ebbing  of  the  ruddy  light  from  the  base  of  the  cliff,  till 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  109 

fainter  contrasts  of  purple  and  green  are  left  again  in  the  evening 
shadow.  In  thinking  of  that  view  as  it  was  given,  towards  sunset 
while  seated  under  the  shadow  of  the  dark  firs  that  hem  the  western 
edge  of  the  Profile  Lake,  the  music  of  the  good  old  abbot's  evening 
meditation,  in  Longfellow's  "  Golden  Legend,"  floats  into  our  mem- 
ry:— 

Slowly,  slowly  up  the  wull 
Steals  the  sunshine,  steals  the  shade; 
Evening  damps  begin  to  fall. 
Evening  shadows  are  displny'd. 
Round  me,  o'er  me,  everywhere. 
All  the  sky  is  grand  with  clouds, 
And  athwart  the  evening  air 
Wheel  the  swallows  home  in  crowds. 
Shafts  of  sunshine  from  tlie  west 
Paint  the  dusky  windows  red; 
Darker  shadows,  deeper  rest. 
Underneath  and  overhead. 
Darker,  darker,  and  more  wan 
In  my  breast  the  shadows  fall, 
Upward  steals  the  life  of  man 
As  the  sunshine  from  the  v/all. 
From  the  wall  into  the  sky, 
From  the  roof  along  the  spire; 
Ah,  the  souls  of  those  that  die 
Are  but  sunbeams  lifted  higher. 

This  cliff,  and  the  whole  wall  with  which  it  is  connected,  shows  its 
height  more  impressively  in  some  of  the  misty  dogdays,  when  fogs 
play  their  tricks  along  its  breastworks.  Sometimes  they  break  away 
above,  and  let  the  pinnacles  of  rock  be  seen  disconnected  from  the 
base.  Then  we  can  hardly  believe  that  Lafayette  himself  has  not 
moved  a  little  nearer,  and  pushed  aside  the  curtains  to  look  down  at 
the  Profile  House.  Sometimes  they  tear  themselves  into  horizontal 
strips,  through  whose  lines  of  gray  the  green  and  purple  of  the  trees 
and  rocks  give  peculiar  pleasure  to  the  eye.  Sometimes  they  thicken 
below  and  break  above,  to  show  a  dash  or  a  long  line  of  delicate 
amber  light  upon  the  edge  of  the  wall.  At  last  the  Avhole  texture 
gets  mysteriously  loosened,  and  the  broad  curtain  begins  at  once  to 
rise  and  melt.     The  sunshine  pours  unobstructed  over  the  Notch,  and 

17 


110  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

only  here  and  there  a  shred  of  the  morning  fog  is  left  to  loiter  up- 
wards.    Watch  it,  and  think  of  Bryant's  poem : 

Earth's  children  cleave  to  Earth — her  frail 

Decaying  children  dread  decay. 
Yon  wreath  of  mist  that  leaves  the  vale, 

And  lessens  in  the  morning  ray: 
Look  how,  by  mountain  rivulet. 

It  lingers  as  it  upward  creeps. 
And  clings  to  fern  and  copsewood  set 

Along  the  green  and  dewy  steeps; 
Clings  to  the  fragrant  kalraia,  clings 

To  precipices  fringed  with  grass. 
Dark  maples  where  the  wood-thrush  sings, 

And  bowers  of  fragrant  sassafras. 
Yet  all  in  vain — it  passes  still 

From  hold  to  hold,  it  cannot  staj', 
And  in  the  very  beams  that  fill 

The  world  with  glory,  wastes  away, 
Till,  parting  from  the  mountain's  brow, 

It  vanishes  from  human  eye. 
And  that  which  sprung  of  earth  is  now 

A  portion  of  the  glorious  sky. 

The  most  attractive  advertisement  of  the  Franconia  Notch  to  the 
traveUing  pviblic  is  the  rumor  of  the  "  Great  Stone  Face,"  that  hangs 
upon  one  of  its  highest  cliffs.  If  its  inclosing  walls  were  less  grand, 
and  its  water  gems  less  lovely,  travellers  would  be  still,  perhaps,  as 
strongly  attracted  to  the  spot,  that  they  might  see  a  mountain  which 
breaks  into  human  expression, — a  piece  of  sculpture  older  than  the 
Sphynx, — an  intimation  of  the  human  countenance,  which  is  the 
crown  of  all  beauty,  that  was  pushed  out  from  the  coarse  strata  of 
New  England  thousands  of  years  before  Adam. 

The  marvel  of  this  countenance,  outlined  so  distinctly  against  the 
sky  at  an  elevation  of  nearly  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the  road,  is 
greatly  increased  by  the  fact  that  it  is  composed  of  three  masses  of 
rock  which  are  not  in  perpendicular  line  with  each  other.  On  the 
brow  of  the  mountain  itself,  standing  on  the  visor  of  the  helmet  that 
covers  the  face,  or  directly  underneath  it  on  the  shore  of  the  little 
lake,  there  is  no  intimation  of  any  human  features  in  the  lawless 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY. 


Ill 


rocks.  Remove  but  a  few  rods  either  way  from  the  guide-board  on 
the  road,  where  you  are  advised  to  look  up,  and  the  charm  is  dis- 
solved. Mrs.  Browning  has  connected  a  law  of  historical  and  social 
insight  with  a  passage  and  a  fancy,  that  many  of  our  readers  will  be 


glad  to  associate  with  their  visit  to  the  spot  where  the  granite  Profile 
is  revj^aled  to  them  : — 

Every  age, 
Through  being  beheld  too  close,  is  ill-discerned 
Bj-  those  who  have  not  lived  past  it.     We'll  suppose 
Mount  Athos  carved,  as  Persian  Xerxes  schemed, 
To  some  colossal  statue  of  a  man: 
The  peasants,  gathering  brushwood  in  his  ear, 
Had  guess'd  as  little  of  any  human  form 
Up  there,  as  would  a  flock  of  browsing  goats. 
They'd  have,  in  fact,  to  travel  ten  miles  off 
Or  ere  the  giant  image  broke  on  them. 
Full  human  profile,  nose  and  chin  distinct, 
Month,  muttering  rhythms  of  silence  up  the  sky, 


112  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

And  fed  at  evening  with  the  blood  of  su\k; 
Grand  torso, — hand,  that  flung  perpetually 
The  largesse  of  a  silver  river  down 
To  all  the  country  pastures.     'Tis  even  thus 
With  times  we  live  in, — evermore  too  great 
To  be  apprehended  near. 

One  of  Mr.  Hawthorne's  admirable  "  Twice-told  Tales  "  has  woven 
a  charming  legend  and  moral  about  this  mightj  Profile  ;  and  in  his 
description  of  the  face  the  writer  tells  us  :  "  It  seemed  as  if  an  enor- 
mous giant,  or  Titan,  had  sculptured  his  own  likeness  on  the  preci- 
pice. There  was  the  broad  arch  of  the  forehead,  a  hundred  feet  in 
height ;  the  nose,  with  its  long  bridge  ;  and  the  vast  lips,  which,  if 
they  could  have  spoken,  would  have  rolled  their  thunder  accents 
from  one  end  of  the  valley  to  the  other."  We  must  reduce  the  scale 
of  the  charming  story-teller's  description.  The  whole  profile  is  about 
eighty  feet  in  length ;  and  of  the  three  separate  masses  of  rock  which 
are  combined  in  its  composition,  one  forms  the  forehead,  another  the 
nose  and  upper  lip,  and  the  third  the  chin.  The  best  time  to  see  the 
Profile  is  about  four  in  the  afternoon  of  a  summer  day.  Then,  stand- 
ing by  the  little  lake  at  the  base  and  looking  up,  one  fulfils  the  appeal 
of  our  great  transcendental  poet  in  a  literal  sense  in  looking  at  the 
jutting  rocks,  and, 

through  their  granite  seeming 
Sees  the  smile  of  reason  beaming. 

The  expression  is  really  noble,  with  a  suggestion  partly  of  fatigue  and 
melancholy.  He  seems  to  be  waiting  for  some  visitor  or  message. 
On  the  front  of  the  cliff  there  is  a  pretty  plain  picture  of  a  man  with 
a  pack  on  his  back,  who  seems  to  be  endeavoring  to  go  up  the  valley. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  arrival  of  this  arrested  messenger  that  the  old  stone 
visage  has  been  expecting  for  ages.  The  upper  portion  of  the  mouth 
looks  a  little  weak,  as  though  the  front  teeth  had  decayed,  and  the 
granite  lip  had  consequently  fallen  in.  Those  who  can  see  it  with  a 
thundercloud  behind,  and  the  slaty  scud  driving  thin  across  it,  will 
carry  away  the  grandest  impression  which  it  ever  makes  on  the  be- 
holder's mind.     But  when,  after  an  August  shower,  late  in  the  after- 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET    VALLEY.  113 

noon,  the  mists  that  rise  from  the  forest  below  congregate  around  it, 
and,  smitten  with  sunshine,  break  as  they  drift  against  its  nervous 
outline,  and  hiding  the  mass  of  the  mountain  which  it  overhangs,  iso- 
late it  with  a  thm  halo,  the  countenance,  awful  but  benignant,  is  "  as 
if  a  mighty  angel  were  sitting  among  the  hills,  and  enrobing  himself 
in  a  cloud  vesture  of  gold  and  purple." 

The  whole  mountain  from  which  the  Profile  starts  is  one  of  the 
noblest  specimens  of  majestic  rock  that  can  be  seen  in  New  Hamp- 
shire.    One  may  tire  of  the  craggy  countenance  sooner  than  of  the 
sublime  front  and  vigorous  slopes  of  Mount  Cannon  itself — especially 
as  it  is  seen,  with  its  great  patches  of  tawny  color,  m  driving  up  from 
the  lower  part  of  the  Notch  to  the  Profile  House.     Yet  the  interest 
of  the  mountain  to  visitors  has  been  so  concentrated  in  the  Profile, 
that  very  few  have  studied  and  enjoyed  the  nobler  grandeur  on  which 
that  countenance  is  only  a  fantastic  freak.    And  many,  doubtless,  have 
looked  up  with  awe  to  the  Great  Stone  Face,  with  a  feeling  that  a 
grander  expression  of  the  Infinite  power  and  art  is  suggested  in  it 
than  in  any  mortal  countenance.     "  Is  not  this  a  place,"  we  have 
heard  it  said,  "  to  feel  the  insignificance   of  man  ?  "     Yes,  before 
God,  perhaps,  but  not  before  matter.     The  rude  volcanic  force  that 
pufifed  the  molten  rocks  into  bubbles,  has  hfted  nothing  so  marvellous 
in  structure  as  a  human  skeleton.     The  earthquakes  and  the  frosts 
that  have  shaken  and  gnawed  the  granite  of  Mount  Cannon  into  the 
rough  semblance  of  an  intelligent  physiognomy,  are  not  to  be  com- 
pared for  wonder  to  the  slow  action  of  the  chemistries  that  groove, 
chasten,  and  tint  the  bones  and  tissues  of  a  human  head  into  corre- 
spondence with  the  soul  that  animates  it,  as  it  grows  in  wisdom  and 
moral  beauty.     The  life  that  veins  and  girdles  the  noblest  mountain 
on  the  earth,  is  shallow  to  the  play  of  vital  energies  within  a  human 
frame. 

No  mountain  can 
Measure  with  a  perfect  man. 

The  round  globe  itself  is  only  the  background  upon  which  the  human 
face  is  chiselled.     Each  one  of  us  wears  more  of  the  Infinite  art, — is 


114  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

housed  m  more  of  the  Infiiiite  beneficence,  than  is  woven  mto  the 
whole  material  vesture  of  New  Hampshire.  And  the  mhid  that  can 
sap  the  mountain,  untwist  its  structure,  and  digest  the  truth  it  hides, 
— the  taste  that  enjoys  its  form  and  draperies, — the  soul  whose  sol- 
emn joy,  stirred  at  first  by  the  spring  of  its  peaks,  and  the  strength 
of  its  buttresses,  mounts  to  Him  who  "  toucheth  the  hills  and  they 
smoke," — these  are  the  voyagers  for  Avhich  the  Creator  built 

this  round  sky-cleaving  boat 
Which  never  strains  its  rocky  beams; 
Whose  timbei-s,  as  they  silent  float, 
Alps  and  Caucasus  uprear, 
And  the  long  Alleghanies  here, 
And  all  town-sprinkled  lands  that  be, 
Sailing  through  stars  with  all  their  history. 

The  forenoon  can  be  very  profitably  spent  by  guests  m  the  Profile 
House  who  love  mountain  chmbing,  in  scaling  Mount  Cannon, — after 
they  have  explored  the  track  of  the  charming  cascade,  just  back  of 
the  hotel,  that  flings  its  silver  down  with  grace  and  music,  to  be 
stranded  uito  the  flashing  tide  of  the  Pemigewasset  below.  But  tow- 
ards evenuig  a  visit  must  without  fail  be  paid  to 


ECHO   LAKE. 

When  we  begin  to  criticize,  or  make  exceptions  to,  the  scenery  of 
the  great  White  Mountain  range,  we  speak  at  once  of  the  lack  of 
water.  It  makes  the  artistic  sense  quite  thirsty  to  live  several  weeks 
near  their  base.  If  we  had  full  power  over  the  scenery  near  the 
highest  range  to  alter  or  amend  it,  we  should  order  a  lake  to  appear 
forthwith  in  "  The  Glen."  Then  the  spot  would  be  perfect.  To  be 
able  to  sail  about  over  a  liquid  mirror  covering  the  whole  gorge  of 
the  Peabody  River  in  front  of  the  Glen  House  ; — to  see  the  clouds 
sweeping  under  you  in  a  mighty  bowl  of  blue ;  to  paddle  around  the 
bend  of  such  a  lake  towards  Gorham,  and  catch  the  Narcissus  of  the 


THE   PEMIGEW ASSET    VALLEY.  115 

range,  Mount  Madison,  secluded  from  his  fellows,  gazing  at  his  own 
symmetry  ;  to  look  down  at  the  pyramid  of  Adams,  hanging  soft  and 
steady  in  an  illusive  sky  ;  to  skim  along  in  the  shadow  of  Washington, 
observing  the  heavy  roll  of  his  shoulder  like  an  arrested  wave,  or  the 
dehcate  ambrotype  of  the  nervous  edge  of  the  spur  that  bounds  Tuck- 
erman's  ravine  ;  to  be  able  to  watch  the  speckled  lights  and  shadows 
slowly  shiftmg  over  the  whole  hne  of  the  sunken  chain  ; — or,  more  fas- 
cinatmg  than  all,  to  see  a  gorgeous  October  in  such  a  magic  glass, 
snowy  summits  with  trailing  mists  dropping  from  bulky  slopes  that  are 
gay  with  blooming  forests, — what  is  there  this  side  the  Alps  that 
could  then  compare  with  that  spot  ?  Oh !  for  one  rub  on  the  lamp 
of  Aladdin !  Oh,  for  the  advent  of  some  artist-Moses,  Avhose  rod 
might  smite  those  rocks,  and  make  the  Peabody  torrent  swell  and 
spread  to  the  amplitude  of  such  a  silvery  sheet,  thus,  far  more  than 
duphcating  the  beauty  of  the  spot,  while  endowing  the  mountain 
chain  with  self-consciousness. 

But  enough  of  imaginary  lakes.  Franconia  is  more  fortunate  in 
its  httle  tarn  that  is  rimmed  by  the  undisturbed  wilderness,  and 
watched  by  the  grizzled  peak  of  Lafayette,  than  in  the  old  Stone 
Face  from  which  it  has  gained  so  much  celebrity.  Echo  Lake  is  the 
only  sheet  of  still  water  that  nestles  near  any  one  of  the  higher 
White  Momitams.  How  much  joy  has  it  fed  in  human  hearts  ! 
Something  of  its  bounty  expended  upon  the  infant  Pemigewasset  is 
borne  down  into  the  Merrimack,  and  contributes  to  the  power  that 
moves  the  Wheels  of  Nashua  and  Lowell,  and  supplies  a  thousand 
operatives  with  bread.  But  its  more  sacred  use  is  not  narrowed  to 
the  boimds  of  the  stream  which  it  supplies  in  part  with  gentle  pulse. 
Thousands  have  seen  it  whose  hearts  its  springs  have  fed  with  un- 
wasting  Avater,  and  in  whose  memory  its  beautiful  surface,  swept  by 
the  gentle  edges  of  the  summer  breeze,  and  burnished  by  the  sun- 
light, is  a  sweet  and  perennial  symbol  of  purity  and  peace. 

We  have  heard  of  persons  that  were  called  "  embodied  sympar 
thies."  Is  not  this  the  true  definition  of  a  httle  mountain  lake  ?  It 
is  a  mirror,  an  interpreter  of  what  enfolds  and  oversweeps  it.     See 


116 


THE   WHITE   HH^LS. 


what  colors  and  forms  it  is  stained  with  or  hides !  The  Httle  segment 
of  beach  it  repeats.  The  rocks  around  it  it  sets  below  as  part  of  the 
wall  of  its  under  stillness.  The  chmbing  trees  and  the  shadow  of  the 
steep  shores  make  a  large  section  of  its  borders  dim  with  dusky 
green.     The  sky  hues,  blue  or  gray,  brilliant  or  sober,  dull  or  joyous, 


it  clothes  itself  with.  It  answers  to  the  temper  of  the  wind,  with  smil- 
ing ripples,  or  slaty  churlishness,  or  heaving  petulance.  It  is  glad  in 
the  colors  of  sunrise,  and  pensive  as  the  flames  of  sunset  cool  in  the 
west.  Plardly  a  rod  of  its  surface  wears  any  color,  when  you  look  at 
it  steadily,  that  can  be  said  to  belong  to  itself.     And  yet  it  does  not 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  117 

merely  mimic  what  is  shown  to  it.  It  takes  the  moods  of  mountain, 
woods,  and  firmament  into  its  own  being,  softly  flashes  their  joy,  or  is 
saturated  with  their  grief,  and  repeats  to  them  their  experience,  as 
the  heart  of  a  friend  returns  the  color  of  our  fortunes  or  our  moods. 
The  mountains  stand  in  Nature's  eloquent  hieroglyphics  as  the  types 
of  sturdy  and  suffering  service  ;  the  rivers,  for  unwearied,  cheering, 
hfe-renewing  charities  ;  the  httle  lakes,  for  the  beauty,  the  sweetness, 
the  refreshment  of  that  noiseless  sympathy,  not  revealing  itself  in  the 
new  products  of  an  active  beneficence  like  the  moving  waters, — from 
the  rills  that  gush  through  tmy  lanes  of  grass  to  streams  that  over- 
flow bounty  upon  the  meadows, — but  which  none  the  less  belongs  to 
the  exquisite  and  sacred  ministries  of  love  upon  the  earth,  without 
which  the  world  would  be  "  a  dry  and  thirsty  land  where  no  water 
is."  How  dehcate  and  graceful  in  suggestion,  melody,  and  fancy, 
are  these  verses  from  the  poet  Milnes  :  — 

Till  death  the  tide  of  thought  may  stem, 
There's  little  chance  of  our  forgetting 
The  highland  lake,  the  water  gem. 
With  all  its  rugged  mountain-setting. 

Our  spirits  followed  every  cloud 
That  o'er  it,  and  within  it,  floated; 
~     Our  joy  in  all  the  scene  was  loud. 

Yet  one  thing  silently  we  noted:  ■ 

That,  though  the  glorious  summer  hue 

That  steeped  the  heav'ns  could  scarce  be  brighter, 

The  blue  below  was  still  more  blue. 

The  very  light  itself  was  lighter. 

And  each  the  other's  fancy  caught 
By  one  instinctive  glance  directed; 
How  doubly  glows  the  Poet's  thought 
In  the  belov'd  one's  breast  reflected! 

It  is  towards  evening  that  visitors  are  usually  drawn  to  the  lake 
to  sail  upon  it,  and  hear  the  echoes  from  which  it  derives  its  name. 
It  is  better  worth  visiting  then,  however,  for  its  echoes  of  color  than 
of  sound. 

18 


118  THE   WHITE   HH.LS. 

For  now  the  eastern  mountain's  head 
On  the  dark  h\ke  throws  lustre  red; 
Bright  gleams  of  gold  and  purple  streak 
Ravine  and  precipice  and  peak — 
(So  earthly  power  at  distance  shows; 
Reveals  his  splendor,  hides  his  woes.) 

But  the  echoes  are  interesting,  whether  repeating  from  the  moun- 
tain walls  the  notes  of  the  voice,  or 

Replying  shrilly  to  the  well-tuned  horns, 

or  rolling  back  on  the  shore  the  reports  of  the  cannon  that  "  tears  the 
cave  where  Echo  Ues."  These  it  returns  in  sevenfold  reduphcations 
of  thunder,  as  wall  behind  wall  of  the  mountain  amphitheatre  catches 
the  sound  on  its  crescent  and  tosses  it  up  towards  old  Lafayette, 

Till  high  upon  his  misty  side 
Languish'd  the  monniful  notes,  and  died. 
For  never  sounds,  by  mortal  made, 
Attain'd  his  high  and  haggard  head, 
That  echoes  but  the  tempest's  moan, 
Or  the  deep  thunder's  rending  groan. 

The  last  four  lines  our  readers  will  not  understand  as  referring  to 
the  noise  of  the  cannon  which,  of  course,  must  be  clearly  enough 
heard^on  the  top  of  Lafayette.  For  all  screams  of  the  human  voice 
or  bugle  notes,  however,  and  such  "sounds  by  mortals  made,"  it  is  as 
true  for  Lafayette  as  for  "  stern  old  Coolin,"  in  whose  behalf  Scott 
wrote  it.  Those  of  our  readers  who  are  famiUar  with  Wordsworth's 
poems  on  the  naming  of  places,  will  at  once  recall  the  passage  which 
we  here  transcribe,  as  the  most  vivid  description  of  mountain  echoes 
In  the  compass  of  English  hterature. 

When  I  had  gazed  perhaps  two  minutes  space, 
Joanna,  looking  in  my  ej-es,  beheld 
That  ravishment  of  mine,  and  laughed  aloud. 
The  Rock,  like  something  starting  from  a  sleep, 
Took  up  the  Lady's  voice,  and  laughed  again; 
That  ancient  \Voman,  seated  on  Helm-crag, 
Was  ready  with  her  cavern ;  Hammar-scar, 
And  the  tall  Steep  of  Silver-how,  sent  forth 
A  noise  of  laughter;  southern  Loughrigg  heard. 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  119 

And  Fairfield  answered  •with  a  mountain  tone; 
Helvellyn  far  into  the  clear  blue  sky 
•  Carried  the  Lady's  voice, — old  Skiddaw  blew 

His  speaking-trumpet; — back  out  of  the  clouds 
Of  Glaramara  southward  came  the  voice; 
And  Kirkstone  tossed  it  from  his  misty  head. 

Thu?  far,  we  have  been  held  by  the  attractions  in  the  upper  part 
jf  Franconia  Notch  that  immediately  surround  the  Profile  House. 
We  must  now  follow  the  Pemigewasset  a  few  miles  below,  to  the 
southern  opemng  of  the  pass,  where  the  Flume  House  commands 
the  widening  valley.  Those  who  would  thoroughly  enjoy  a  forenoon, 
and  taste  with  eye  and  ear  the  freshness  of  the  forest,  the  glancing 
hght  on  a  mountain  stream,  the  occasional  rare  beauty  of  the  mosses 
on  its  banks,  the  colors  at  the  bottom  of  its  cool,  still  pools,  the 
overarching  grace  of  its  trees,  or  the  busy  babble  of  its  broken  and 
sparkhng  tide,  should  walk  from  one  hotel  to  the  other,  down  the 
river  which  runs  parallel  with  the  road,  but  which  is  for  the  most 
part  concealed  from  it  by  the  forest.  A  real  lover  of  Nature,  who 
has  time  at  command,  wUl  no  more  consent  to  lose  the  pleasures 
which  these  rambles  give  in  unveiling  the  coy  charms  of  Nature's 
wildness,  for  the  sake  of  the  greater  ease  and  speed  of  the  stage, 
than  he  would  tliink  of  taking  his  "  dinner  concentrated  in  a 
pill." 

Rev.  Hemy  Ward  Beecher  tells  us  :  "  I  have  always  wished  that 
there  might  be  a  rock-spring  upon  my  place.  I  could  wish  to 
have,  back  of  the  house  some  two  hundred  yards,  a  steep  and  tree- 
covered  height  of  broad,  cold,  and  mossy  rocks — rocks  that  have 
seen  trouble,  and  been  upheaved  by  deep  inward  forces,  and  are 
lying  in  any  way  of  noble  confusion,  full  of  clefts,  and  dark  and 
mysterious  passages,  without  echoes  in  them,  upholstered  -with  pendu- 
lous vines  and  soft  with  deep  moss.  Upon  all  this  silent  tumult  of 
wild  and  shattered  rocks,  struck  through  with  stillness  and  rest,  the 
thick  forest  should  shed  down  a  perpetual  twilight.  The  only  glow 
that  ever  chased  away  its  solemn  shadows  should  be  the  red  rose-light 
:)f  sunsets,  shot  beneath  the  branches  and  through  the  trunks,  Ughting 

18* 


120  THE   WHITE  HILLS. 

up  the  gray  rocks  with  strange  golden  glory."     Mr.  Beecher  refers 
to  the  hght  which  Longfellow  has  described  in  Hiawatha  :  — 

Slowly  o'er  the  simmering  landscape 
Fell  the  evening's  dusk  and  coolness, 
And  the  long  and  level  sunbeams 
Shot  their  spears  into  the  forest, 
Breaking  through  its  shields  of  shadow, 
Rushed  into  each  secret  ambush, 
Searched  each  thicket,  dingle,  hollow. 

"  What  light  is  so  impressive  as  this  last  light  of  the  day  streaming 
into  a  forest  so  dark  that  even  insects  leave  it  silent  ?  Yes,  another 
Ught  is  as  strange — that  rose-hght  of  the  afternoon,  which  shhies 
down  a  hill-side  of  vivid  green  grass,  taking  its  hues,  and  strikes 
through  the  transparent  leaves  into  the  forest  below,  and  spreads 
itself  along  the  ground  in  a  tender  color  for  wliich  we  have  no  name, 
as  if  green  were  just  melting  into  rose  color,  and  orange  color  were 
just  seizing  them  both. 

"  But  to  return  to  the  spring.  In  such  a  rock  forest  as  I  have 
spoken  of,  far  up  in  one  of  its  silent  aisles,  a  spring  should  burst 
forth,  making  haste  from  the  seams  of  the  rock,  as  if  just  touched 
Avith  the  prophet's  rod — cold,  clear,  copious,  and  musical  from  its 
bh-th.  All  the  way  to  the  outer  edge  of  the  forest  it  should  find 
its  own  chamiels,  and  live  its  own  hfe,  imshaped  by  human  hands. 
But  before  the  sun  touched  it,  we  should  have  a  rock  reservoir,  into 
which  it  should  gather  its  congregation  of  drops  now  about  to  go 
forth  into  useful  hfe." 

The  Basin,  about  a  mile  from  the  Flume  House,  to  which  the  walk 
down  the  Pemigewasset  leads  us,  is  just  what  the  poetic  preacher 
would  desire  to  have  transported  to  his  grounds.  The  granite  bowl, 
sixty  feet  in  circumference,  is  filled  with  water  ten  feet  deep,  that 
is  pellucid  as  air.  The  rocky  shelf,  twenty  feet  above,  has  been 
grooved  by  a  cascade  that  perpetually  pours  over ;  and  into  the 
depths  of  cool  shadow  below,  golden  flakes  of  light  sink  down  like 
falling  leaves.  If  it  did  not  He  so  near  the  dusty  road,  or  if  a  land- 
scape gardener  could  be  commissioned  to  arrange  the  surroundings  of 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  121 

it,  it  would  be  as  rai'e  a  gem  as  the  Franconia  cabinet  of  curiosities 
could  show. 

There  is  a  silent  pool,  whose  glass 

Reflects  the  lines  of  earth  and  sky; 
The  hues  of  heaven  along  it  pass, 

And  all  the  verdant  forestry 

And  in  that  shining  downward  view, 

Each  cloud,  and  leaf,  and  little  flower. 
Grows  'mid  a  watery  sphere  anew, 

And  doubly  lives  the  summer  hour. 

Beside  the  brink,  a  lovely  maid  ^ 

Against  a  furrowed  stem  is  leaning, 
To  watch  the  painted  light  and  shade 

That  give  the  min-or  form  and  meaning. 

Her  shape  and  cheek,  her  eyes  and  hair, 
Have  caught  the  splendor  floating  round; 

She  in  herself  embodies  there 
All  life  that  fills  sky,  lake,  and  ground. 

And  while  her  looks  the  crystal  meets, 

Her  own  fair  image  seems  to  rise; 
And,  glass-like,  too,  her  heart  repeats 

The  world  that  there  in  vision  lies. 

The  best  way  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  Basin,  is  to  ascend  to  the 
highest  of  the  cascades  that  shde  along  a  mile  of  the  slope  of  the 
mountain  at  the  west.  Then  follow  down  by  their  pathways,  as  they 
make  the  rocks  now  white  with  foam,  now  glassy  with  smooth,  thin, 
transparent  sheets,  till  they  mingle  their  water  with  the  Pemigewas- 
set  at  the  foot,  and  pouruig  their  common  treasury  around  the  groove 
worn  into  the  rocky  roof,  fall  ynth.  musical  splash  into  the  shadowed 
reservoir  beneath.  Wordsworth  has  versified  a  ti-adition  connected 
with  such  a  pool  among  the  Cumberland  hiUs.  We  can  enjoy  the 
poetry  of  it  by  the  Basin,  if  we  are  not  allowed  to  associate  its  pathos 
with  the  air  shadowed  by  that  mossy  granite,  and  moist  with  spray 
that  broke  not  long  before  m  rain  upon  the  mountain- tops. 

A  love-lorn  Maid,  at  some  far-distant  time. 
Came  to  this  hidden  pool,  whose  depths  surpass 


122  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

In  crystal  clearness  Dian's  looking-glass; 

And,  gazing,  saw  that  Rose,  which  from  the  prime 

Derives  its  name,  reflected  as  the  chime 

Of  echo  doth  reverberate  some  sweet  sound' 

The  starry  treasure  from  the  blue  profound 

She  longed  to  ravish ; — shall  she  plunge,  or  climb 

The  humid  precipice,  and  seize  the  guest 

Of  April,  smiling  high  in  upper  air?  , 

Desperate  alternative !  what  fiend  could  dare 

To  prompt  the  thought?     Upon  the  steep  rock's  breast 

The  lonely  Primrose  yet  renews  its  bloom. 

Untouched  memento  of  her  hapless  doom ! 

If  we  were  pained  a  little  by  the  ill-framing  of  the  Basin,  we  cannot 
withhold  admiration  and  gratitude  that  the  approach  to 


THE   FLUME 

has  been  so  pleasantly  preserved  from  everything  that  can  uitrude  by 
discordant  associations  upon  its  romantic  charms.  From  the  travelled 
road  we  pass  into  a  rough,  winding  wagon-road  in  the  forest.  Leav- 
ing the  wagon,  we  mount  by  a  footpath  that  leads  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  sweet  melody,  that  gives  a  promise  to  the  ear  which  is  not  to 
be  broken  to  the  hope.  Soon  we  reach  the  clean  and  sloping  granite 
floors  over  w^hich  the  water  slips  in  thin,  wide,  even  sheets  of  crystal 
colorlessness.  Above  this,  we  meet  those  gentle  ripples  over  rougher 
ledges  that  are  embossed  with  gi-een.  Then,  still  higher  up,  where 
the  rocks  grow  more  uneven,  Ave  are  held  by  the  profuse  beauty  of 
the  hues  showm  upon  the  bright  stones  at  the  bottom  of  the  little 
translucent  basins  and  pools.  Still  above,  we  come  to  the  remark- 
able fissure  in  the  mountain,  more  than  fifty  feet  high,  and  several 
hundred  feet  long,  which  narrows,  too,  towards  the  upper  end,  till  it 
becomes  only  twelve  feet  wide,  and  which,  doubtless,  an  earthquake 
made  for  the  passage  of  the  stream  which  the  visitors  are  now  to 


THE   PEanCEWASSET   VALLEY. 


12a 


ascend.  We  go  up,  stepping  from  rock  to  rock,  now  walking  along 
a  little  plank  pathway,  now  mounting  by  some  rude  steps,  here  and 
there  crossing  from  side  to  side  of  the  ravine  by  primitive  little 
bridges,  that  bend  under  the  feet  and  that  are  railed  by  birch-poles, 
and  then  climbing  the  recks  again,  while  the  spray  breaks  upon  ug 
from  the  dashing  and  roaring  stream,  till  we  arrive  at  a  little  bridge 
which  spans  the  narrowest  part  of  the  ravine. 


How  wild  the  spot  is  !  Which  shall  we  admire  most, — the  glee  of 
he  Httle  torrent  that  rushes  beneath  our  feet ;  or  the  regularity  and 
smoothness  of  the  frowning  Avails  through  which  it  goes  foaming  out 
into  the  sunshine  ;  or  the  splendor  of  the  dripping  emerald  mosses 


124  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

that  line  them  ;  or  the  trees  that  overhang  their  edges  ;  or  the  huge 
boulder,  egg-shaped,  that  is  lodged  between  the  walls  just  over  the 
bridge  where  we  stand, — as  unpleasant  to  look  at,  if  the  nerves  are 
ii'resolute,  as  the  sword  of  Damocles,  and  yet  held  by  a  grasp  out  of 
which  it  will  not  slip  for  centuries  ?  Was  ever  such  an  amount  of 
water  put  to  more  various  and  romantic  use,  in  being  poured  down  a 
few  hundred  feet  for  calmer  and  prosaic  service  in  the  river  below  ? 

The  struggling  Rill  insensibly  is  grown 

Into  a  Brook  of  loud  and  stately  march, 

Crossed  ever  and  anon  by  plank  or  arch; 

And,  for  like  use,  lo!  what  might  seem  a  zone 

Chosen  for  ornament — stone  matched  with  stone 

In  studied  symmetry,  Avith  interspace 

For  the  clear  waters  to  pursue  their  race 

Without  restraint.     How  swiftly  have  they  flown, 

Succeeding — still  succeeding!     Here  the  Child 

Puts,  when  the  high-swoln  Flood  runs  fierce  and  wild, 

His  budding  courage  to  the  proof;  and  here 

Declining  Manhood  learns  to  note  the  sly 

And  sure  encroachments  of  infirmity. 

Thinking  how  fast  time  runs,  life's  end  how  near! 

One  should  remain  at  the  Flume  House  a  day  or  two,  at  least,  in 
order  to  have  the  privilege  of  visiting  "  The  Flume  "  two  or  three 
times.  Most  persons  see  it  only  once,  and  then  in  connection  Avith 
large  parties  when  there  is  too  much  confusion,  distraction,  and 
chatter.  The  early  morning  is  the  best  time  to  seek  it;  and  if  not 
more  than  three  or  four  will  go  together,  the  beauty  of  the  place  will 
open  itself  as  it  cannot  in  the  first  visit,  and  as  it  vnl\  not  to  a  crowd. 
In  the  Odyssey  we  read  of 

a  lovely  cave, 
Dusky  and  sacred  to  the  Nymphs,  whom  men 

Call  Naiads 

In  it,  too,  are  long  looms 
Of  stone,  and  there  the  Nymphs  do  weave  their  robes. 
Sea-purple,  wondrous  to  behold.     Aj^e-flowing 
Waters  are  there.     Two  entrances  it  hath  ; 
That  to  the  north  is  pervious  unto  men; 
That  to  the  south  more  sacred  is,  and  there 
Men  enter  not,  but  'tis  the  Immortals'  path. 


THE   PEMIGEWASSET   VALLEY.  125 

This  southerly  entrance  to  the  Flume  may  be  found  by  those  who 
seek  it  quietly,  and  wth  reverence  for  the  Spirit  out  of  whose  peren 
nial  bounty  all  beauty  pours. 

If  we  could  visit  Franconia  in  ■winter  we  should,  no  doubt,  find 
scensry  more  startling  than  any  which  the  summer  has  to  oifer. 
Those  of  our  readers  will  believe  it  who  have  seen  stereoscopic 
views  of  the  Flume  when 

those  eagle-baffliiig  mountiiins 
Slept  in  their  shrouds  of  snow  ;  —  beside  thp  ways 

The  waterfalls  were  voiceless  —  for  their  fountains 
Were  changed  to  mines  of  sunless  crystal  now, 
Or  by  the  curdling  winds  —  like  brazen  wings 

Which  clanged  along  the  mountain's  marble  brow  — 
Warped  into  adamantine  fretwork,  hung 
And  filled  with  frozen  light  the  chasm  below. 

The  Flume  is  the  chief  attraction  in  the  immediate  neighborhood 
of  the  Flume  House,  as  the  Profile  is  of  the  narrower  portion  of  the 
Notch  five  miles  above.  And  the  Pool  is  another  of  its  resources, — 
a  gloomy,  natural  well  in  the  forest,  a  hundred  fifty  feet  broad,  and 
about  as  deep,  wliich  holds  perpetually  about  forty  feet  of  water. 

At  noon-day  here 
'Tis  twiliglit,  and  at  sunset  blackest  night. 

If  tliis  was  hollowed  out  for  Naiads,  they  must  be  of  a  very  sullen 
temper,  Nymphs  of  the  Stygian  order,  that  love 

some  uncouth  cell, 
Where  brooding  Darkness  spreads  his  jealous  wings 
And  the  night  raven  sings. 

One  of  the  gi*andest  cascades  of  the  mountain  region  has  been 
discovered  on  Mooseliillock  River,  the  child  of  a  hill  unnamed  as  yet, 
wrhich  is  climbed  by  a  path  about  two  miles  below  the  hotel.  It  is  in 
Buch  a  hurry  to  get  away  from  home,  that  it  goes  on  the  jump,  almost 
all  the  way,  to  join  the  Pemigewasset,  making  two  leaps  of  eighty 
feet  each,  one  immediately  after  '  the  other,  which,  as  we  climb 
towards  them,  gleam  as  one  splendid  line  of  light  through  the  tree; 

19 


126 


THE    WHITE   HILLS. 


and  shrubbery  that  fringe  the  rocky  cleft.     Is  it  not  possible  to  give 
them  a  more  appropriate  name  than  "  Georgiana  Falls  ?  "     The  view 


from  the  summit  of  the  ridge  that  nurtures  this  adventurous  stream, 
has  been  pronounced  by  the  native  philosopher,  whom  many  of  our 


THE   PEMIGEVVASSET   VALLEY.  127 

readers  have  heard  discoui'se  at  the  Pool  about  geology  and  the  fate 
of  Captain  Sjmmes,  "  the  stalwartest  prospect  in  all  Franconi'." 

But  the  view  from  the  Flume  House  itself  is  a  perpetual  refresh- 
ment, and  one  needs  not  seek  by  hard  climbing  or  Avandering  for 
any  increased  temptation  to  contentment.  No  scenes  can  be  more 
strongly  contrasted  in  spirit  and  mfluence  than  those  around  the  two 
hotels,  five  miles  apart.  From  the  Flume  House  the  general  view  is 
cheerful  and  soothing.  There  is  no  place  among  the  mountains  Avhere 
the  fever  can  be  taken  more  gently  and  cunningly  out  of  a  Avorried 
or  bui'dened  brain.  So  soft  and  delicate  are  the  general  features  of 
the  outlook  over  the  widening  Pemigewasset  valley !  So  rich  the 
gradation  of  the  lights  over  the  miles  of  gently  sloping  forest  that 
sweeps  doAvn  toAvards  Campton !  So  pleasant  the  openings  here 
and  there  that  show  a  cluster  of  farm-houses,  and  the  bright  beauty 
of  cultivated  meadows  inclosed  by  the  deeper  green  of  the  wilder- 
ness !  HoAV  can  the  eye  ever  drain,  or  the  mind  ever  weary  of  the 
loveliness  in  form  and  color  of  those  hills  that  bubble  off  to  the 
horizon  ?  And  here,  too,  Ave  can  have  more  of  the  landscape  beauty 
of  the  larger  mountains  than  the  greater  nearness  of  the  Profile 
House  to  them  would  alloAV.  The  three  peaks  of  the  highest  Hay- 
stacks, Lafayette,  Pleasant,  and  Liberty,  are  in  a^oav,  and  at  evening 
one  can  see  the  glorious  purple  mount  the  forests  that  hang  shaggy 
on  their  sides, — extinguishing  the  green  as  completely  as  if  the  trees 
for  miles  had  suddenly  been  clothed  AAith  leaves  of  amethyst, — and 
then  chased  by  the  shadoAV  retreat  upAvards  till  it  dyes  the  rocks  Avith 
its  harmless  fire,  and  still  upAvards  to  the  peaks,  and  then  leaps  to  the 
clouds  above,  Avhere 

slowly  from  the  scene 
The  stooping  sun  upg:\thers  his  spent  shafts, 
And  puts  them  back  into  his  golden  quiver. 

Or,  by  an  easy  chmb  of  half  an  hour  up  Mount  PemigCAvasset 
directly  back  of  the  hotel, — a  climb  not  at  all  difficult  in  dry  Aveather 
to  ladies, — the  sunset  AdeAV  will  be  far  more  impressive.     The  spurs 


128 


THE    WHITE    HILLS 


and  hollows  of  Lafayette  and  his  associates  will  be  lighted  up  by  the 
splendor  that  pours  into  them  from  the  west.  It  searches  and  reveals 
all  the  markings  of  the  torrents  ;  it  gilds  the  tautness  of  the  rocky 
tendons  that  stretch  from  the  summits  to  the  valleys,  and  that  run  some- 
times in  hard  lines  and  sometimes  in  curves  full  of  rebellious  energy^ 
like  a  tough  bow  strung  to  the  utmost  tension  ;  and  it  pours  upon  the 


innumerable  populace  of  trees  which  the  mountain  sides  support  one 
wide  blaze  of  purple,  which  slowly  burns  off  upward,  leaving  twilight 
behind  it,  and  gleaming  on  the  barren  crests,  long  after  the  valley^ 
which  stretches  in  \'iew  for  twenty  miles,  is  dimmed  with  shade. 

As  we  clomb. 
The  Valley,  opening  out  her  bosom,  gave 
Fair  prospect,  intercepted  less  and  less. 

O'er  the  flat  meadows,  far  off,  , 

And  yet  conspicuous,  stood  the  old  Church-tower 
In  majesty  presiding  over  fields 


THE   PEMIGEVV ASSET   VALLEY.  129 

And  habitations  seemingly  preserved 
From  the  intrusion  of  a  restless  world 
By  rocks  impassable  and  mountains  huge. 

Soft  heath  this  elevated  spot  supplied, 
And  choice  of  moss-clad  stones,  whereon  we  couched 
Or  sate  reclined;  admiring  quietly 
The  general  aspect  of  the  scene;  but  each 
Not  seldom  over-anxious  to  make  known 
His  own  discoveries;  or  to  favorite  points 
Directing  notice,  merely  from  a  wish 
To  impart  a  -Joy,  imperfect  while  unshared. 
That  rapturous  moment  never  shall  I  forget 
When  these  particular  interests  were  effaced 
From  every  mind! — Alreadj'  had  the  sun, 
Sinking  with  less  than  ordinary  state, 
Attained  his  western  bound ;  but  rays  of  light — 
Now  suddenly  diverging  from  the  orb 
Retired  behind  the  mountain  tops  or  veiled 
By  the  dense  air — shot  upwards  to  the  crown 
Of  the  blue  firmament — aloft  and  wide: 
.     And  multitudes  of  little  floating  clouds. 

Through  their  ethereal  texture  pierced — ere  we, 
Who  saw,  of  change  were  conscious — had  become 
Vivid  as  fire;  clouds  separately  poised, — 
Innumerable  multitude  of  forms 
Scattered  through  half  the  circle  of  the  sky; 
And  giving  back,  and  shedding  each  on  each, 
With  prodigal  communion,  the  bright  hues 
Which  from  the  unapparent  fount  of  glory 
They  had  imbibed,  and  ceased  not  to  receive. 

We  have  thus  far  been  engaged  with  the  aisles  and  galleries,  the 
fonts  and  crypts,  of  this  mountain  cathedral  of  Franconia,  but  have 
not  attempted  to  mount  the  spire  which  springs  from  a  corner  of  the 
northerly  entrance.  Mount  Lafayette,  which  is  now  ascended  by  a 
bridle  path  that  winds  into  the  forest  about  midway  between  the  two 
hotels,  is  a  little  over  five  thousand  feet  in  height — higher  therefore 
than  the  loftiest  of  the  mountains  of  Scotland.  In  form  and  charac- 
ter it  is  unlike  Mount  Washington,  although  in  geological  structure  it 
is  essentially  similar.  It  differs  in  expression,  to  the  eye  of  an  artist 
who  studies  its  outlines  from  the  occasional  openings  along  the  steep 
ascent,  as  a  keen,  nervous  temperament  differs  from  a  square-shoul- 
dered, burly,  and  bilious  frame. 


130  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

It  does  not  require  so  long  a  ride  on  horseback  to  reach  the  peak 
of  Lafayette  as  to  scale  Mount  Washington ;  but  the  average  ascent 
is  more  steep,  and  after  heavy  rains  the  mud  will  be  found  more 
troublesome  than  the  sharpness  of  the  angles  that  must  be  chmbed. 
One  unacquainted  with  mountain  paths,  and  the  trustworthy  compe- 
tence of  the  ponies,  whose  hoofs  get  used  to  striking  fire  from  the 
primeval  granite  of  their  upper  stairways,  would  imagine,  on  the  first 
ascent  to  the  peak,  that  there  was  great  danger  in  the  expedition, 
and  would  think,  no  doubt,  that  it  was  a  remarkable  chance  or  Provi- 
dence that  returned  him  safely.  But  the  peril  is  not  worth  thinking 
of.  The  mules  of  the  Andes  are  not  more  surefooted  than  the 
horses  prove  to  be  that  mount  far  above  the  nests  of  the  eagles,  on 
the  sharp  fin-hke  ridges  of  Lafayette,  from  which,  on  one  side,  tremen- 
dous gorges  sweep,  and  on  the  other  the  most  lovely  of  level  land- 
scapes are  displayed.  Any  man  with  two  legs  that  can  sit  upright 
on  a  horse  needs  have  no  fear  of  making  the  adventure.  Lideed, 
even  the  bipedal  condition  is  not  essential.  When  we  made  our  last 
ascent  of  the  mountain,  a  friend  was  of  the  party  whom  accident  had 
robbed  of  one  of  the  natural  supports  which  are  impartially  supplied 
to  the  human  race.  His  genius,  however,  has  supplied  the  deficiency 
not  only  in  his  own  case,  but  for  a  multitude  of  others,  whose  grati- 
tude is  a  noble  part  of  his  reward,  by  a  limb  almost  as  good  for  walk- 
ing as  nature  furnishes,  and  relieved  from  numberless  inconveniences 
and  ills  which  we  must  take  with  the  more  supple  organism  of  flesh 
and  blood.  He  mounted  the  horse  at  the  Profile  House,  and  did  not 
dismount  till  he  could  put  Dr.  Palmer's  artificial  leg,  in  company 
with  the  real  limb  which  Nature  gave  him,  on  the  rocky  apex  of 
Lafayette.  We  could  add  graceful  testimony  to  the  attractipns  of 
Franconia,  as  well  as  to  the  versatility  of  our  companion,  if  we  could 
print  the  poem  which  he  wrote  on  the  excursion,  that  falls  under  our 
notice  as  these  pages  are  passing  through  the  press. 

Ah,  the  pleasure,  if  we  have  been  long  pent  in  the  city,  of  tasting 
the  freshness  of  the  mountain  air  by  the  ascent  of  the  steep  wilder- 
aess  on  horseback  !     Each  cell  of  the  lungs  is  a  breathing  and  joyous 


THE   PEMIGEVV ASSET   VALLEY.  131 

palate.  Clieerily  we  cross  the  trees  which  brutal  winter  tempests 
have  uprooted  and  tilted  over  to  die  athwart  the  path  !  And  how 
charmingly  the  sounds  of  the  Avilderness  fall  on  the  ear, — the  twitter 
of  the  birch  leaves,  the  deeper  tone  of  the  beech,  the  sigh  of  the 
hemlock,  and  the  long-drawn  moan  of  the  pine  !  When  the  horse 
fltops  for  rest,  listen  to  the  tap  of  the  woodpecker  on  some  withered 
trunk,  a  death  drum  to  nests  of  bugs  and  knots  of  worms,  that  think 
themselves  safe  against  such  detective  police  ;  next  to  the  whirr  of  a 
startled  partridge  ;  soon  to  the  slender,  long-draAvn,  honeyed  whistle  of 
the  fife-bird,  ending  Avith  a  clear  and  thrice-repeated  dactyl,  as  if  call- 
mg  some  distant  friend  by  the  name  of  "  Peabody  ;  "  and  then  to  the 
hysteric  chatter  of  scatter-brained  squirrels,  and  the  brisk  clock-wind- 
ing which  they  parody  in  their  throats  !  Have  our  readers  ever  seen 
Mr.  Thoreau's  vivid  description  of  a  squirrel  ?  We  will  quote  part 
of  it.  "  One  would  approach  at  first  warily  by  fits  and  starts,  like  a 
leaf  bloAvn  by  the  wind,  now  a  few  paces  this  way,  with  wonderful 
speed  and  waste  of  energy,  making  inconceivable  haste  with  his 
'  trotters '  as  if  it  were  for  a  Avager,  and  now  as  many  paces  that 
way,  but  never  getting  on  more  than  half  a  rod  at  a  time.  Then 
suddenly  pausing  Avith  a  ludicrous  expression  and  a  gratuitous  somer- 
set, as  if  all  the  eyes  in  the  universe  were  fixed  on  him, — for  all  the 
motions  of  a  squirrel,  even  in  the  most  soHtary  recesses  of  the  forest, 
imply  spectators  as  much  as  those  of  a  dancing  girl, — wasting  more 
time  in  delay  and  circumspection  than  would  have  sufficed  to  Avalk 
the  whole  distance, — I  never  saAV  one  walk, — ^before  you  could  say 
'  Jack  Robinson,'  he  would  be  in  the  top  of  a  young  pitch-pine,  wind- 
ing up  his  clock  and  chiding  all  imaginary  spectators,  soliloquizing 
and  talking  to  all  the  universe  at  the  same  time  "  And  to  this  inspi- 
ration of  the  lungs  and  ear  in  the  forest,  must  be  added  the  expecta- 
tion of  grand  scenery  towards  which  Ave  are  riding,  and  the  zest  Avhich 
the  ever-shifting  netAvork  of  light  and  shadoAV  over  the  tree  trunks 
and  the  leaves  affords  to  the  eye. 

Lafayette  is  so  differently  related  to  the  level  country,  as  the  Duke 
of  western  Coos,  that  the  vicAV  from  his  upper  shoulders  and  summit 


132  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

has  an  entirely  different  character  from  that  which  Mount  Washing- 
ton commands.  In  the  first  place,  the  Mount  Washington  range 
itself  is  prominent  in  the  landscape,  and  the  sight  of  it  with  all  its 
northerly  and  western  braces  certainly  does  much  to  make  up  for 
the  large  districts  which  it  walls  from  vision.  Of  course,  with  the 
exception  of  this  range,  there  is  no  other  mountain  whose  head 
intercepts  the  sweep  of  the  eye.  But  it  is  the  lowlands  that  are 
the  glory  of  the  spectacle  which  Lafayette  shows  his  gxiests.  The 
valleys  of  the  Connecticut  and  Merrimack  are  spread  west  and  south- 
west and  soutli.  With  what  pomp  of  color  are  their  growing  harvests 
inlaid  upon  the  floor  of  New  England  I  Here  we  see  one  of  Nature's 
great  water-colors.  She  does  not  work  in  oil.  Every  tint  of  the 
flowers ;  all  the  gradations  of  leaf-verdui-e ;  every  stain  on  the  rocks ; 
every  shadow  that  drifts  along  a  mountain  slope,  in  response  to  a 
floating  cloud ;  the  vivid  shreds  of  silver  gossamer  that  loiter  along 
the  bosom  of  a  ridge  after  a  shower  ;  the  luxurious  chords  of  sunset 
gorgeousness ;  the  sublime  arches  of  dishevelled  light, — all  are  Na- 
tm-e's  temptation  and  challenge  to  the  intellect  and  cunning  of  the 
artist  to  mimic  the  splendor  with  which,  by  water  and  sunbeams,  she 
adorns  the  world. 

When  we  can  see  them  from  the  proper  height  and  in  their  rela- 
tions, common  facts  wear  a  ravishing  beauty.  It  is  so  in  the  realm 
of  science  when  we  mount  to  a  grand  generalization  ;  it  is  so  when 
we  merely  rise  in  space,  and  see  the  common  fields  and  farms  re- 
duced to  patches  of  color  on  the  earth's  robe.  There  is  no  house 
on  the  summit  of  Lafayette,  and  therefore  we  cannot  hide  a  moment 
from  whatever  grandeur  or  loveliness  the  day  supplies. 

See  yonder  little  cloud,  that,  borne  aloft 
So  tenderly  by  the  wind,  floats  fast  away 
Over  the  rocky  peaks  !     It  seems  to  me 
The  body  of  St.  Catherine,  borne  by  angels! 

It  is  the  precursor  of  others  that  roll  out  of  the  northwest,  to 
wrap  the  peak  in  cold  gray  mist  for  a  few  moments.  But  it  is  only 
that  they  may  be  torn  away  again,  and  that  we  may  be  surprised  by 


THE   PEMIGEW ASSET  VALLEY.  133 

the   contrast  of  their  ashy  gloom  with  the  new  created  world   that 
soon  spreads  over  and  beneath  us 

Its  floors  of  flashing  light, 
Its  vast  and  azure  dome, 
Its  fertile,  golder  islands, 
Floating  on  a  silver  sea. 

Yes,  it  is  the  semblance  of  a  vaguely'-  tinted  ocean  that  is  produceu 
by  the  obscure  and  tender  colors  that  stretch  over  hundreds  of  square 
miles  to  the  horizon.  What  a  privilege  it  would  be  to  be  removed 
far  enough  into  space  to  observe  the  motion  without  losing  the  color 
of  the  globe, — to  see  the  morning  break  upon  the  Himalayas,  and 
the  vast  blue  of  the  ocean  under  the  noon,  and  sunset  flood  the 
Andes  with  violet  and  gold, — to  watch  the  creeping  of  spring  over  the 
northern  latitudes,  and 

Summers,  like  blushes,  sweep  the  face  of  earth. 

This  is  the  privilege  with  which  the  great  German  poet  endows 
the  angels.     He  makes  them  sing,  in  the  opening  hymn  of  "  Faust," 

And  fleetly,  thought  surpassing,  fleetly 
The  earth's  green  pomp  is  spinning  round; 
Where  Paradise  alternates  sweetly 
With  night  terrific  and  profound. 

Surely,  no  man  ever  earned  his  sight  seeing.  It  is  reward  enough 
for  an  angel  to  be  able  simply  to  read  the  geography  of  this  globe 
through  its  dehcate  sapphire-tinted  vesture,  as  it  rolls  noiselessly  to 
bathe  its  checkered  lands  with  light. 

The  sight  gives  angels  strength,  though  greater 
Than  angels'  utmost  thought  sublime; 
And  all  thy  wondrous  works.  Creator, 
Are  glorious  as  in  Eden's  prime. 

But  why  should  we  attempt  in  prose,  or  in  random  passages,  any 
elescription  of  the  view  from  Lafayette,  when  one  of  Bryant's  poems 
interprets  for  us  the  relations  of  the  mountain  to  the  glen,  the  sharp- 
ness of  its  outlines,  the  beauty  of  the  Pemigewasset  that  flows  from 
its  base  to  wind  through  fat  farms,  and  the  emotions  which  the  com- 

20 


134  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

bined  gi-andeur  and  loveliness  inspire  ?     It  is  difficult  to  believe  that 
it  was  not  written  expressly  for  the  spot. 

There,  ns  thou  stand'st, 
The  haunts  of  men  below  thee,  and  around 
The  mountahi  summits,  thy  expanding  heart 
Shall  feel  a  kindred  with  that  loftier  world 
To  which  thou  art  translated,  and  partake 
The  enlargement  of  tiiy  vision.     Thou  shalt  look 
Upon  the  green  and  rolling  forest  tops, 
And  down  into  the  secrets  of  the  glens. 
And  streams,  that  with  their  bordering  thickets  strive 
To  hide  their  windings.     Thou  shalt  gaze,  at  once, 
Here  on  white  villages,  and  tilth,  and  herds, 
And  swarming  roads,  and  there  on  solitudes 
That  only  hear  the  torrent,  and  the  wind, 
And  eagle's  shriek.     There  is  a  precipice 
That  seems  a  fragment  of  some  mighty  wall. 
Built  by  the  hand  that  fashioned  the  old  world, 
To  separate  its  nations,  and  thrown  down 
When  the  flood  drowned  them.     To  the  north,  a  path 
Conducts  you  up  the  narrow  battlement. 
Steep  is  the  western  side,  shaggy  and  wild 
With  mossy  trees,  and  pinnacles  of  flint. 
And  many  a  hanging  crag.     But,  to  the  east, 
Sheer  to  the  vale  go  down  the  bare  old  cjirfs, — 
Huge  pillars,  that  in  middle  heaven  upbear 
Their  weather-beaten  capitals,  here  dark 
With  the  thick  moss  of  centuries,  and  there 
Of  chalky  whiteness  where  the  thunderbolt 
Has  splintered  them.    It  is  a  fearful  thing 
To  stand  upon  the  beetling  verge,  and  see 
Where  storm  and  lightning,  from  that  huge  gray  wall 
Have  tumbled  down  vast  blocks,  and  at  the  base 
Dashed  them  in  fragments;  and  to  lay  thine  ear 
Over  the  dizzy  depth,  and  hoar  the  sound 
Of  winds,  that  struggle  with  the  woods  below, 
Come  up  like  ocean  murmurs.     But  the  scene 
Is  lovely  round;  a  beautiful  river  there 
Wanders  amid  the  fresh  and  fertile  meads. 
The  paradise  he  made  unto  himself. 
Mining  the  soil  for  ages.     On  each  side 
The  fields  swell  upward  to  the  hills. 


THE  SACO  VALLEY. 


CHOCORUA,  NORTH  CONWAY.  AND  THE  NOTCH. 


Farewell,  ye  streets  !    Again  Pll  nt 
On  crags  to  watch  the  shadows  JUt; 
To  list  ike  buzzing  oj"  the  bee, 
Or  branches  waving  like  a  sea  ; 
To  hear  yar  off  the  cuckoo's  note, 
Or  lark's  clear  carol  high  afloat. 
And  find  a  juy  in  every  sound. 
Of  air,  the  water,  or  the  ground 
Of  fancies  full,  though  fixing  nought, 
And  thinking — heedless  of  my  thought. 

Farewell !  and  in  the  teeth  of  care 
i'2  breathe  the  buxom  mountain  air. 
Feed  vision  upon  dyes  and  hu^s 
That  from  the  hill-top  interfuse, 
Wldte  rocks,  and  lichens  born  of  spray. 
Dark  heather  tufts,  and  77iosses  gray, 
(Jreen  grass,  blue  sky,  and  boulders  brown. 
With  amber  waters  glistening  down, 
And  early  flowers,  blue,  white,  and  pink. 
That  fringe  with  beauty  all  the  brink. 

Mack  AY. 


THE   SACO    VALLEY. 

We  once  heard  of  a  traveller  who  went  down  to  New  Orleans, 
every  spruig,  and  came  North  just  fast  enough  to  keep  pace  with  the 
strawberries.  He  managed  to  rise  on  the  degrees  of  latitude  at  even 
speed  "with  the  bounteous  vines,  and,  ascending  village  by  village,  and 
city  after  city,  plucked  and  ate,  and  thus  extended  the  spring-time 
for  his  palate  all  the  way  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  to  Montreal.  How 
charming  it  would  be  to  follow  the  fresh  foliage  and  the  apple  blossoms 
in  their  northern  march  from  Charleston  to  Eastport !  What  a  rich 
year  in  which  one  should  have  nearly  three  months  of  the  heart  of 
spring,  by  riding  thus  on  the  crest  of  the  earliest  quickening  wave, 
that  breaks  in  green  and  white  over  the  fields  and  farms  of  half  a 
continent ! 

We  have  sometunes  duplicated  the  opening  season  of  the  year 
hj  a  visit  to  the  White  Mountains  through  the  Saco  valley,  after 
the  blossoms  had  faded  from  the  lower  districts  of  New  England. 
Indeed,  about  the  last  of  May  one  can  have  a  faint  touch  of  the 
charm  of  Switzerland,  by  driving  through  North  CouAvay  and  The 
Olen  to  Gorham. 

The  sun  looks  o'er,  with  hazy  eye, 
The  snowy  mountain-tops  whicli  lie 
Piled  coldly  up  against  the  sky: 

Dazzling  and  white!  save  where  the  bleak, 
Wild  winds  have  bared  some  splintering  peak, 
Or  snow-slide  left  its  dusky  streak. 

Yet  gi-een  are  Saco's  banks  below, 
And  belts  of  spruce  and  cedar  show 
Dark  fringing  round  those  cones  of  snow. 


138  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

The  earth  hath  felt  the  breath  of  spring, 
Though  yet  on  her  deliverer's  winf:; 
The  lingering  frosts  of  winter  cling. 

Fresh  grasses  fringe  the  meadow-brooks, 
And  mildly  from  its  sunny  nooks 
The  blue  eye  of  the  violet  looks. 

And  odors  from  the  springing  grass, 
The  sweet  birch  and  the  sassafras, 
Upon  the  scarce-felt  breezes  pass. 

Her  tokens  of  renewing  care 
Hath  Nature  scattered  everywhere. 
In  bud  and  flower  and  warmer  air. 

We  can  recall  a  most  singular  combination  of  sucli  freshness  of 
bloom  in  the  Saco  valley,  with  one  of  the  very  wildest  aspects 
which  the  mountains  ever  assume.  Just  where  we  expected  the  cul- 
minatmg  pleasure  of  the  ride  from  Centre  Harbor  to  Conway, — that 
is  on  the  top  of  the  hill  in  Eaton,  we  experienced  a  singular  disap- 
pointment. The  snow-capped  ridge  of  Washington  ought  to  have 
risen  out  of  the  north  :  the  whole  horizon  should  have  been  thunder- 
clouded  with  dark  and  rugged  domes.  But  though  the  sky  had  not 
a  cloud,  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  Fires  in  the  neighboring  for- 
ests had  thickened  the  air  to  the  north  with  smoke,  and  cancelled  the 
liills  from  the  landscape  as  completely  as  if  they  had  been  annihilated. 
It  was  interesting,  however,  to  see  them  start  out  by  turns  from  their 
pall,  as  we  rode  along.  First  the  jNIotes  outlined  themselves  ;  next, 
the  graceful  spectre  of  Kiarsarge  peered  from  the  golden  smoke  to 
keep  us  company  ;  but  even  when  our  wagon  rattled  into  the  level 
street  on  which  North  Conway  is  built,  the  same  veil  hid  every  trace 
of  Mount  Washington  from  sight.  The  meadows  of  North  Conway, 
however,  mth  their  elms  arching  in  fresh  drapery,  their  maple  groves 
not  yet  impenetrable  by  the  eye  with  thickets  of  verdure,  and  the 
orchards,  that  nestled  under  the  banks  of  the  village,  snowy  with 
bloom,  were  more  charming  than  in  summer, — perhaps  more  charm- 
ing in  contrast  with  the  Day-of-Judgment  atmosphere  that  invested 
the  hills. 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  I39 

But  in  order  not  to  lose  the  contrast  of  spring  in  the  valleys 
with  mnter  on  the  mountain  crests,  we  drove  from  North  Con- 
way by  the  Ellis  River  through  Jackson  to  the  Glen.  What  glorious 
sweeping  hnes  the  ridges  in  Jackson,  half  revealed  to  us  through  the 
sultry  dusk  of  the  afternoon  !  The  smoke  was  something  to  be  grate- 
ful for,  when  we  saw  those  stupendous  amphitheatres,  seemingly 
doubled  in  height,  towering  into  gloom.  After  a  while  Ave  could 
detect  the  craggy  spurs  of  Washington  outhned  as  a  faint  etching. 
And  soon  we  seemed  to  be  looking  at  the  shade  of  the  mighty  mon- 
arch in  an  unsubstantial  landscape  of  Hades — the  phantasm  of  a 
mountain,  like  that  awful  Phantasm  of  Jupiter  which  Shelley,  in  the 
"  Prometheus  Unbound,"  called  up  from  the  shadowy  world  that 
mimics  all  that  is  real  on  the  earth, 

where  do  inhabit 
The  shadows  of  all  forms  that  think  and  live. 


Vast,  sceptred  phantoms;  heroes,  men,  and  beasts; 
And  Demogorgon,  a  tremendous  gloom. 

Cheerily  the  brooks,  fed  from  the  melting  snows  of  the  invisible  sum- 
mits near  us,  foamed  along  the  road-side, — their  waves  stained  by  the 
golden  light,  as  though  they  were  hurrying  tributaries  of  some  Pac- 
tolus.  How  cool  the  air  of  the  forests  through  which  the  latter  por- 
tion of  the  Pinkham  road  twists  its  Avay, — assuring  us,  as  well  as  the 
remnants  of  snoAv-banks  did,  directly  under  the  nearest  trees,  that 
Winter  is  not  far  off  in  time,  and  is  still  lingermg  on  the  neighboring 
heights !  It  Avas  a  ride  to  call  up  the  charming  passage  on  Spring 
from  Goethe's  "  Faust :  " — 

Spring's  warm  look  has  unfettered  the  fountains, 

Brooks  go  tinkling  with  silvery  feet; 

Hope's  bright  blossoms  the  valley  greet; 

Weakly  and  sickly  up  the  rough  mountains 

Pale  old  Winter  has  made  his  retreat. 

Thence  he  launches,  in  sheer  despite, 

Sleet  and  hail  in  impotent  showers. 

O'er  the  green  lawns  as  he  takes  his  flight; 

But  the  sun  will  suffer  no  white. 

Everywhere  waking  the  formative  powers. 

Living  colors  he  yearns  to  spread. 


140  THE   WHITE  HILLS. 

And  then  when  we  ride  out  of  the  woods  into  the  glorious  Glen,  we 
find  the  contrast  for  which  we  had  made  the  earlj  spring  journey  to 
the  hills.  We  see  the  forest  green  up  to  a  snow  line.  We  stand  in 
an  almost  tropical  afternoon  and  look  up  to  February.  We  see  snow- 
fields  thirty  and  fifty  feet  deep  clinging  in  the  ravines,  and  literally 
blazing  upon  the  brown  barrenness  that  relieves  them.  There  is  no 
smoke  hanging  around  those  peaks,  and  no  suggestion  of  fire  in  those 
fortifications  of  the  frost.     Up  there  the  summer  does  not  come  with 

thief-like  step  of  liberal  hours, 
Thawing  snow-drift  into  flowers. 

It  is  almost  a  drawn  battle  between  the  sun  and  the  snow-banks  that 
are  packed  into  the  clefts  of  Tuckerman's  ravine,  and  around  the 
dome  of  the  stubbed,  square-shouldered  Jefferson  ;  for  it  is  not  till 
the  last  of  August  that  the  whole  of  it  is  dislodged.  But  now,  stand- 
ing by  a  brook  in  front  of  the  Glen  House,  one  may  have  the  sense 
of  Spring  in  the  sweet,  warm  air,  and  the  rustle  of  the  young  birch 
leaves  that  overhang  the  Avater ;  and  yet  may  spb  Winter  by  lifting 
the  eye,  and/t'^Z  it  by  dipping  the  hand  into  the  ice-water,  into  which 
that  whiteness  aloft  is  slowly  dying,  to  be  repeated  in  the  snowy 
caps  which  the  rocks  will  force  upon  the  stream,  as  it  goes  brawling 
and  dashing  over  them  towards  the  Androscoggin. 

But  Ave  are  travellmg  too  fast.  We  should  not  have  been  tempted 
into  such  a  smoky  atmosphere  for  the  sake  of  escaping  from  it  so 
delightfully.  We  ought  to  have  ridden  along  more  leisurely  by  the 
Sandwich  mountains,  under  which  the  earthquake  force  must  once 
have  played  with  dolphin-like  frolic,  to  have  rolled  the  central  mass, 
as  it  did,  in  so  many  smooth  and  heavy  domes.  And  then  Ave  should 
have  reined  up  by  the  shore  of  the  little  lake,  two  or  three  miles  off 
from  the  regular  Conway  road,  to  see  the  tAvo  Chocoruas  that  are 
nearer  ahke  than  the  Siamese  tAvins.  One  is  a  rocky,  desolate, 
craggy-peaked  substance,  crouching  in  shape  not  unlike  a  monstrous 
walrus  (though  the  summit  suggests  more  the  half-turned  head  and 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  141 

beak  of  an  eagle  on  the  watch  against  some  danger) ;  the  other  is  the 
wraith  of  the  proud,  and  lonely  shape  above. 

How  rich  and  sonorous  that  word  Chocorua  is  !  Do  not,  0  reader, 
commit  the  sin  of  which  the  Yankee  inhabitants  are  guilty,  and  into 
which  stage-drivers  will  tempt  you,  of  flattening  the  majestic  roll  and 
melancholy  cadence  of  the  word  into  "  Corway."  Does  not  its 
rhythm  suggest  the  wildness  and  loneliness  of  the  great  hills  ?  To 
our  ears  it  always  brings  with  it  the  sigh  of  the  winds  through  moun- 
tain pines.  We  have  said  in  a  former  chapter  that  no  mountain  of 
New  Hampshire  has  interested  our  best  artists  more.  It  is  every- 
thing that  a  New  Hampshire  mountain  should  be.  It  bears  the  name 
of  an  Indian  chief.  It  is  invested  with  traditional  and  poetic  interest. 
In  form  it  is  massive  and  symmetrical.  The  forests  of  its  lower 
slopes  are  crowned  with  rock  that  is  sculptured  into  a  peak  with 
lines  full  of  haughty  energy,  in  whose  gorges  huge  shadows  are  en- 
trapped, and  whose  clifis  blaze  with  morning  gold.  And  it  has  the 
fortune  to  be  set  in  connection  with  lovely  water  scenery, — with 
Squam,  and  Winnipiseogee,  and  the  little  lake  directly  at  its  base. 
Its  pinnacle,  too,  that  looks  so  sheer  and  defiant,  is  a  challenge  to 
adventurous  pedestrians  among  the  mountains,  which  is  accepted  now 
and  then  by  parties  every  summer.  Although  it  is  but  thirty-four 
hundred  feet  in  height,  the  steepness  of  its  ledges  and  the  absence 
of  any  path  make  the  scaling  of  it  a  greater  feat  than  a  walk  to  the 
top  of  Mount  Washington  by  any  of  the  bridle  roads. 

On  one  side  of  its  jagged  peak  a  charming  lowland  prospect 
stretches  east  and  south  of  the  Sandwich  range,  indented  by  the 
emerald  shores  of  Winnipiseogee,  which  lies  in  queenly  beauty  upon 
the  soft,  far-stretching  landscape.  Pass  around  a  huge  rock  to 
the  other  side  of  the  steep  pyramid,  and  you  have  turned  to  another 
chapter  in  the  book  of  nature.  Nothing  but  mountains  running  in 
long  parallels,  or  bending,  ridge  behind  ridge,  are  visible,  here  blaz- 
ing in  sunlight,  there  gloomy  with  shadow,  and  aU  related  to  the 
towering  mass  of  the  imperial  Washington. 

With  the  exception  of  Mount  Adams  of  the  Mount  Washington 

21 


142  THE   AVHITE   HILLS. 

range,  there  is  no  peak  so  sharp  as  Chocorua.  And  there  is  no 
other  summit  from  which  the  precipices  are  so  sheer,  and  sweep 
down  with  such  cjcloidal  curves.  One  must  stand  on  the  edge  of 
the  Grand  Gulf,  a  thousand  feet  below  the  summit  of  Mount  Wash- 
ington, to  see  ravine  lines  so  full  of  force,  and  spires  of  rock  so 
sharp  and  fearful.  It  is  so  related  to  the  plains  on  one  side,  and  the 
mountain  gorges  on  the  other,  that  no  grander  watchtower  except 
Mount  Washington  can  be  scaled  to  study  and  enjoy  cloud  scenery. 
The  sketch  we  give  of  the  peak  is  copied  from  studies  made  on  the 
spot.  The  engraving  loses  not  only  all  the  charm  of  color,  but  very 
much  of  the  spirit,  which  belongs  to  the  original  in  oil  by  Mr.  Cole- 
man. It  is  possible  that  the  accomplished  artist,  who  has  passed  so 
many  hours  near  the  summit,  could  decide  for  us,  out  of  his  own 
recollections,  the  accuracy  of  this  brilliant  description,  by  an  Ameri 
can  poet,  of  sunrise  seen  from  such  a  mountain  top. 

Before  me  rose  a  pinnacle  of  rock, 

Lifted  above  the  wood  that  hemmed  it  in, 

And  now  already  glowing. 


I  scaled  that  rocky  steep,  and  there  awaited 
Silent  the  full  appearing  of  the  sun. 

Below  there  lay  a  far-extended  sea, 
Rolhng  in  feathery  waves.     The  wind  blew  o'er  it 
And  tossed  it  round  the  high-ascending  rocks, 
And  swept  it  through  the  half-hidden  forest  tops, 
Till,  like  an  ocean  waking  into  storm. 
It  heaved  and  weltered.     Gloriously  the  light 
Crested  its  billows,  and  those  craggy  islands 
Shone  on  it  like  to  palaces  of  spar 
Built  on  a  sea  of  pearl.     Far  overhead, 
The  sky,  without  a  vapor  or  a  stain. 
Intensely  blue,  even  deepened  into  purple, 
Where,  nearer  the  horizon,  it  received 
A  tincture  from  the  mist,  that  there  dissolved 
Into  the  viewless  air, — the  sky  bent  round. 
The  awful  dome  of  a  most  mighty  temple. 
Built  by  omnipotent  hands  for  nothing  less 
Than  infinite  worship.     There  I  stood  in  silence:  — 
I  had  no  words  to  tell  the  mingled  thoughts 
Of  wonder  and  of  joy  that  then  came  o'er  me, 
Even  with  a  whirlwind's  rush.     So  beautifu'. 


THE    SACO   VALLEY. 


143 


So  bright,  so  glorious!     Such  a  majesty 
In  yon  pure  vault!     So  many  dazzling  tints 
In  yonder  waste  of  waves  — so  like  the  ocean 
21* 


144  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

With  its  unnumbered  islands  there  encircled 
By  foaming  surges,  that  the  mounting  eagle, 
Lifting  his  fearless  pinion  through  the  clouds 
To  bathe  in  purest  sunbeams,  seemed  an  ospray 
Hovering  above  his  prey;  and  yon  tall  pines, 
Their  tops  half  mantled  in  a  snowy  veil, 
A  frigate  with  full  canvas,  bearing  on 
To  conquest  and  to  glory.     But  even  these 
Had  round  them  sometliing  of  the  lofty  air 
In  which  they  moved;  not  like  to  things  ol  earthy 
But  heightened,  and  made  glorious,  as  became 
Such  pomp  and  splendor. 

Who  can  tell  the  brightness 
That  every  moment  caught  a  newer  glow, 
That  circle,  with  its  centre  like  the  heart 
Of  elemental  fire,  and  spreading  out 
In  floods  of  liquid  gold  on  the  ijlue  sky 
And  on  the  opaline  waves,  crowned  with  a  rainbow 
Bright  as  the  arch  that  bent  above  the  throne 
Seen  in  a  vision  by  the  holy  man 
In  Patmos!  who  can  tell  how  it  ascended. 
And  flowed  more  widely  o'er  that,  lifted  ocean 
Till  instantly  the  unobstructed  sun 
Rolled  up  his  sphere  of  fire,  floating  away, — 
Away  in  a  pure  ether,  far  from  earth, 
And  all  its  clouds, — and  pouring  forth  unbounded 
His  arrowy  brightness !     From  that  burning  centrt 
At  once  there  ran  along  the  level  line 
Of  that  imagined  sea  a  stream  of  gold, — 
Liquid  and  flowing  gold,  that  seemed  to  tremble 
Even  with  a  furnace  heat, — on  to  the  point 
Whereon  1  stood.     At  once  that  sea  of  vapor 
Parted  away,  and,  melting  into  air, 
Rose  round  me;  and  I  stood  involved  in  light. 
As  if  a  flame  had  kindled  up,  and  wrapped  me 
In  its  innocuous  blaze.     Away  it  rolled. 
Wave  after  wave.     They  climbed  the  highest  rockS' 
Poured  over  them  in  surges,  and  then  rushed 
Down  glens  and  valleys,  like  a  wintry  torrent 
Dashed  instant  to  the  plain.     It  seemed  a  moment., 
And  they  were  gone,  as  if  the  touch  of  fire 
At  once  dissolved  them.     Then  I  found  myself 
Midway  in  air;  ridge  after  ridge  below 
Descended,  with  their  opulence  of  woods, 
Even  to  the  dim-seen  level,  where  a  lake 
Flashed  in  the  sun,  and  from  it  wound  a  line, 
Now  silvery  bright,  even  to  the  farthest  verge 
Of  the  encircling  hills.     A  waste  of  rocks 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  14.5 

Was  rouD'l  me, — but  below,  how  besiutiful, 
^o*  .loll  tiie  plain!  a  wilderness  of  groves 
Ani  ripening  luirvests;  while  the  sky  of  June, 
The  soft  blue  sky  of  June,  and  the  cool  nir, 
That  makes  it  then  a  luxury  to  live. 
Only  to  breathe  it,  and  the  busy  echo 
Of  cascades,  and  the  voice  of  mountain  brooks. 
Stole  with  such  gentle  meanings  to  my  heart. 
That  where  I  stood  seemed  heaven. 

A.nd  Chocorua  is  the  onlv  mountain  whose  peak  is  crowned  with  a 
legend.  Would  that  the  vigorous  pen  which  has  saved  for  us  many 
of  the  fragmentary  traditions  of  the  early  Indian  life  in  New  England, 
and  set  them  to  the  music  of  such  terse  and  vigorous  lines  as  "  The 
Bridal  of  Pennacook,"  "  Mogg  Megone,"  and  "The  Funeral  Tree 
of  the  Sokokis,"  had  enshrined  thus  the  story  of  Chocorua's  Curse, 
and  in  this  way  given  the  momitain  added  glory  in  the  landscape 
of  New  Hampshire !  Mr.  Whittier  has  not  told  it  in  verse ;  but 
our  readers  will  be  glad  that  we  can  give  it  to  them  in  such  vivid 
prose  as  the  following,  by  Mrs.  Child  :  — 

"  A  small  colony  of  hardy  pioneers  had  settled  at  the  base  of  this 
mountain.  Intelhgent,  independent  men,  impatient  of  restraint,  they 
had  shunned  the  more  thickly-settled  portions  of  the  country,  and 
retired  into  this  remote  part  of  New  Hampshire.  But  there  was  one 
master-spirit  among  them  who  was  capable  of  a  higher  destiny  than 
lie  ever  fulfilled. 

••  The  consciousness  of  this  had  stamped  something  of  proud  humil- 
ity on  the  face  of  Cornehus  Campbell,-— something  of  a  haughty 
spirit,  strongly  curbed  by  circumstances  he  could  not  control,  and  at 
which  he  seemed  to  murmur.  He  assumed  no  superiority ;  but, 
imconsciously,  he  threw  around  him  the  spell  of  intellect,  and  his 
companions  felt,  they  knew  not  why,  that  he  was  '  among  them,  but 
not  of  them,'  His  stature  was  gigantic,  and  he  had  the  bold,  quick 
tread  of  one  who  had  wandered  frequently  and  fearlessly  among  the 
terrible  hiding-places  of  nature.  His  voice  was  liarsh,  but  his  whole 
countenance  possessed  singular  capabihties  for  tenderness  of  expres- 
sion :  and  sometimes,  under  the  gentle  influence  of  domestic  excite- 


146  THE   AVHITE   HILLS. 

ment,  his  hard  features  would  be  rapidly  hghtcd  up,  s^^ming  Uke  the 
sunshine  flying  over  the  shaded  fields  in  an  April  day. 

"  His  eonipanion  was  one  calculated  to  excite  and  retain  the 
deep,  strong  energies  of  manly  love.  She  had  possessed  extraordi- 
nary beauty,  and  had,  in  the  full  maturity  of  an  excellent  judgment, 
relmquished  several  splendid  alliances,  and.  incurred  her  father's 
displeasure,  for  the  sake  of  Cornelius  Campbell.  Had  political  cir- 
cumstances proved  favorable,  his  talents  and  ambitijDn  would  unques- 
tionably have  worked  out  a  path  to  emolimient  and  fame  ;  but  he 
had  been  a  zealous  and  active  enemy  of  the  Stuarts,  and  the  restora- 
tion of  Charles  II.  was  the  death-warrant  of  his  hopes.  Immedi- 
ately flight  became  necessary,  and  America  was  the  chosen  place  of 
refuge.  His  adherence  to  Cromwell's  party  was  not  occasioned  by 
religious  sympathy,  but  by  political  views  too  liberal  and  philosophical 
for  the  state  of  the  people ;  therefore,  Cornehus  Campbell  sought  a 
home  with  our  forefathers,  and,  being  of  a  proud  nature,  he  withdrcAV 
with  his  family  to  the  solitary  place  we  have  mentioned. 

"  A  very  small  settlement  in  such  a  remote  place  was,  of  com-se, 
subject  to  inconvenience  and  occasional  suffering.  From  the  Indians 
they  received  neither  injury  nor  insult.  No  cause  of  quarrel  had 
ever  arisen  ;  and,  although  their  frequent  visits  were  sometimes 
troublesome,  they  never  had  given  indications  of  jealousy  or  malice. 
Chocorua  was  a  prophet  among  them,  and,  as  such,  an  object  of 
peculiar  respect.  He  had  a  mind  which  education  and  motive  would 
have  nerved  with  giant  strength  ;  but,  growing  up  in  savage  free- 
dom, it  Avasted  itself  in  dark,  fierce,  ungovernable  passions.  There 
was  something  fearful  in  the  quiet  haughtiness  of  his  lips ;  it  seemed 
so  like  slumbering  power — too  proud  to  be  lightly  roused,  and  too 
implacable  to  sleep  again.  In  his  small,  black,  fiery  eye,  expression 
lay  coiled  up  like  a  beautiful  snake.  The  white  people  knew  that  his 
hatred  would  be  terrible ;  but  they  had  never  provoked  it,  and  even 
the  children  became  too  much  accustomed  to  him  to  fear  him. 

"  Chocorua  had  a  son,  nine  or  ten  years  old,  to  whom  Caroline 
Campbell  had  occasionally  made  such  gaudy  presents  as  were  likely 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  147 

to  attract  his  savage  fancy.  This  won  the  child's  affections,  so  that 
he  became  a  famihar  visitant,  almost  an  inmate  of  their  dwelling ; 
and,  being  unrestrained  by  the  courtesies  of  civilized  life,  he  would 
inspect  everything,  and  taste  of  everything  which  came  in  his  way. 
Some  poison,  prepared  for  a  mischievous  fox,  which  had  long  troubled 
Ihe  little  settlement,  was  discovered  and  drunk  by  the  Indian  boy, 
and  he  went  home  to  his  father  to  sicken  and  die.  From  that  mo- 
ment jealousy  and  hatred  took  possession  of  Chocorua's  soul.  He 
never  told  his  suspicions  ;  he  brooded  over  them  in  secret,  to  nourish 
the  deadly  revenge  he  contemplated  against  Cornelius  Campbell. 

"  The  story  of  Indian  animosity  is  always  the  same.  Cornelius 
Campbell  left  his  hut  for  the  fields  early  one  bright,  balmy  morning 
in  June.  Still  a  lover,  though  ten  years  a  husband,  his  last  look  was 
turned  towards  his  wife,  answering  her  parting  smile  ;  his  last  action 
a  kiss  for  each  of  his  children.  When  he  returned  to  dinner,  they 
were  dead — all  dead  I  and  their  disfigured  bodies  too  cruelly  showed 
that  an  Indian's  hand  had  done  the  work  ! 

"  In  such  a  mind  grief,  hke  all  other  emotions,  was  tempestuous. 
Home  had  been  to  him  the  only  verdant  spot  in  the  desert  of  life. 
In  his  wife  and  children  he  had  garnered  up  all  his  heart ;  and  now 
that  they  were  torn  from  him,  the  remembrance  of  their  love  clung 
to  him  like  the  death-grapple  of  a  drowning  man,  sinking  him  down 
into  darkness  and  death.  This  was  followed  by  a  calm  a  thousand 
times  more  terrible — the  creeping  agony  of  despair,  that  brings  with 
it  no  power  of  resistance. 

'  It  was  as  if  the  dead  could  feel 
The  icy  worm  around  him  steal.' 

"  Such,  for  many  days,  Avas  the  state  of  Cornelius  Campbell. 
Those  who  knew  and  reverenced  him  feared  that  the  spark  of  reason 
was  forever  extinguished.  But  it  rekindled  again,  and  with  it  came 
a  wild,  demoniac  spirit  of  revenge.  The  death-groan  of  Chocorua 
would  make  him  smile  in  his  dreams  ;  and,  when  he  waked,  death 
seemed  too  pitiful  a  vengeance  for  the  anguish  that  was  eating  into 
bis  very  soul 


148  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

"  Chocorua's  brethren  were  absent  on  a  hunting  expedition  at  the 
time  he  committed  the  murder,  and  those  who  watched  his  move- 
ments observed  that  he  frequently  cUmbed  the  high  precipice,  which 
afterwards  took  his  name,  probably  looking  out  for  indications  of  their 
return.  Here  Cornelius  Campbell  resolved  to  effect  his  deadly  pur- 
pose. A  party  was  formed,  under  his  guidance,  to  cut  off  all  chance 
of  retreat,  and  the  dark-minded  prophet  was  to  be  hunted  like  a  wild 
beast  to  his  lair. 

"  The  morning  sun  had  scarce  cleared  away  the  fogs,  when  Cho- 
corua  started  at  a  loud  voice  from  beneath  the  precipice,  commanding 
him  to  throw  himself  into  the  deep  abyss  below.  He  knew  the  voice 
of  his  enemy,  and  replied,  with  an  Indian's  calmness,  '  The  Great 
Spirit  gave  life  to  Chocorua,  and  Chocorua  will  not  throw  it  away  at 
the  command  of  the  Avhite  man.'  '  Then  hear  the  Great  Spirit  speak 
in  the  white  man's  thunder ! '  exclaimed  Cornelius  Campbell,  as  he 
pointed  his  gun  to  the  precipice.  Chocorua,  though  fierce  and  fear- 
less as  a  panther,  had  never  overcome  his  dread  of  fire-arms.  He 
placed  his  hands  upon  his  ears,  to  shut  out  the  stunning  report ;  the 
next  moment  the  blood  bubbled  from  his  neck,  and  he  reeled  fearfully 
on  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  But  he  recovered  himself,  and,  raising 
himself  on  his  hand,  he  spoke  in  a  loud  voice,  that  groAv  more  terrific 
as  its  huskiness  increased,  '  A  curse  upon  ye,  white  men  !  May  the 
Great  Spirit  curse  ye  when  he  speaks  in  the  clouds,  and  his  words 
are  fire !  Chocorua  had  a  son,  and  ye  killed  him  while  the  sky  looked 
bright !  ■  Lightning  blast  your  crops  !  Winds  and  fire  destroy  your 
dwellings  !  The  Evil  Spirit  breathe  death  upon  your  cattle  !  Your 
graves  lie  in  the  Avar-path  of  the  Indian  !  Panthers  howl  and  wolves 
fatten  over  your  bones  !  Chocorua  goes  to  the  Great  Spirit, — his 
curse  stays  with  the  Avhite  man  ! ' 

"  The  prophet  sank  upon  the  ground,  still  uttering  inaudible  curses, 
and  they  left  his  bones  to  whiten  in  the  sun.  But  his  curse  rested  on 
that  settlement.  The  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife  were  busy  among 
them ;  ths  winds  tore  up  trees,  and  hurled  them  at  their  dwellings ; 
their  crops  were  blasted,  their  cattle  died,  and  sickness  came  upon 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  149 

their  strongest  men.  At  last  the  remnant  of  them  departed  from  the 
fatal  spot  to  mingle  with  more  populous  and  prosperous  colonies. 
Cornelius  Campbell  became  a  hermit,  seldom  seeking  or  seeing  his 
fellow-men  ;  and  two  years  after  he  was  found  dead  in  his  hut." 

During  many  years  the  cattle  in  the  town  of  Burton,  now  called 
Albany,  at  the  base  of  Chocorua,  Avere  afflicted  Avith  a  strange 
disease.  Science  has  discovered  that  the  trouble  is  in  the  Avatcr, 
which  contains  a  weak  solution  of  muriate  of  lime.  The  disease 
of  the  cattle  was  for  years  attributed  to  Chocorua's  dying  curse. 
Whether  that  curse  sank  into  the  mountain  and  poisoned  with  mu- 
riate of  ^lime  the  springs  from  which  the  Burton  cows  were  to  drink, 
or  the  muriate  of  hme  at  the  base  generated  the  story  of  the  sachem's 
imprecation  on  the  summit,  let  us  not  too  curiously  in(iuire.  Let  us 
only  recall  the  fact  with  gratitude  that,  since  science  has  provided  a 
remedy  for  the  suffering  cattle  in  commoa  soaj>suds,  the  superstitious 
dread  has  nearly  disappeared.  Some  charming  cultivated  intervales 
in  the  A^llage  of  Albany  now  add  to  the  beauty  of  the  prospect  from 
the  battered  crest  of  the  mountain,  and  intimate,  either  that  the 
sachem's  wrongs  have  been  expiated,  or  that  his  dusky  spirit  is 
appeased. 

NORTH   CONWAY. 

But  now  let  us  hsten  to  an  appeal  of  seductive  cadence  in  music 
of  a  gentler  key. 

Come  down,  0  maid,  from  yonder  mountain  height; 
What  pleasure  lives  in  height,  (the  shepherd  sang,) 
In  height  and  cold,  the  splendor  of  the  hills? 
^  But  cease  to  move  so  near  the  Heavens,  and  cease 

To  glide  a  sunbeam  by  the  blasted  pine, 
To  sit  a  star  upon  the  sparkling  spire; 
And  come,  for  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come, 
For  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come  thou  down 
And  find  him;  by  the  happy  threshold,  he, 
Or  hand  in  hand  with  Plenty  in  tlie  maize. 
Or  red  with  spirted  purple  of  the  vats. 
Or  foxlike  in  the  vine;  nor  cares  to  walk 
22 


150  THE    WHITE   HH.LS. 

With  Death  and  Jloniing  on  the  Silver  Horns, 

Nor  wilt  thou  snare  him  in  the  white  ravine, 

Nor  find  him  dropt  upon  the  firths  of  ico, 

That  huddling  slant  in  furrow-cloven  falls 

To  roll  the  torrent  out  of  dusky  doors: 

But  follow;  let  the  torrent  dance  thee  dovm 

To  find  him  in  the  valley;  let  the  wild 

Lean-headed  Eagles  yelp  alone,  and  leave 

The  monstrous  ledges  there  to  slope,  and  spill 

Their  thousand  wreaths  of  dangling  water-smoke, 

That  like  a  broken  purpose  waste  in  air; 

So  waste  not  thou;  but  come;  for  all  the  vales 

Await  thee;  azure  pillars  of  the  lieartli 

Arise  to  thee;  the  children  call,  and  I 

Thy  shepherd  pipe,  and  sweet  is  every  sound, 

Sweeter  thy  voice,  but  every  sovuid  is  sweet; 

Myriads  of  rivulets  hurrying  through  the  lawn, 

The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms. 

And  murmuring  of  innumerable  bees. 

Such  is  the  invitation  vnth  which  North  Conway  coaxes  us  from 
the  gaunt  and  grizzly  peak  which  peers  over  one  of  its  south-westerly 
walls.  It  is  a  short  task  to  give  the  topographical  dimensions  and  to 
describe  the  mountain  framing  of  this  village.  We  can  easily  say 
that  it  is  a  level  bank  about  thirty  feet  above  the  channel  and  the 
meadows  of  the  Saco  River,  extending  some  four  or  five  miles, 
and  measuring,  perhaps,  three  miles  in  breadth.  On  the  west,  the 
long  and  noble  Mote  Mountain  guards  it ;  on  the  east,  the  rough, 
less  lofty,  and  bending  Rattlesnake  ridge  helps  to  wall  it  in, — unat- 
tractive enough  in  the  ordinary  daylight,  but  a  great  favorite  of  the 
setting  sun  which  loves  to  glorify  it  with  Tyrian  drapery.  On  the 
south-west,  as  we  have  said,  Chocorua  manages  to  get  a  peep  of  one 
corner  of  its  lovely  meadows.  Almost  the  whole  line  of  the  White 
Momitains  proper,  croAvned  in  the  centre  by  the  dome  of  Mount 
Washington,  closes  the  view  on  the  north-west  and  north,  —  only 
some  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  distant  by  the  air.  And  nearer,  on  the 
north-east,  its  base  but  two  miles  distant,  swells  the  symmetrical 
Kiarsarge,  the  queenly  mountain  of  New  Hampshire,  which,  when 
the  Indian  titles  were  expunged  from  the  great  range,  should  have 
been  christened  "  Martha  Washington."     The  true  Indian  name  of 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  151 

this  cliarniing  pyi*amid  is  Pequawket.  And  far  to  the  south,  the 
hills  "  soften  away  in  a  series  of  smaller  and  smaller  darkening 
mounds  or  humps,  that  answer  to  the  description  of  the  sea-serpent's 
hack." 

But  Avhat  suggestion  of  the  exquisite  lovehness  of  the  village  ia 
given  by  the  most  accurate  report  of  its  meadow  farms  and  mountain 
guards  ?  ^Ve  well  remember  driving  into  it  from  the  north,  by  the 
Jackson  road,  some  three  years  since,  about  sunset,  under  waving 
hangings  of  vermilion  and  gold.  The  sinkini;;  sunlio;ht  was  sheddinsr 
yellow  splendor  over  the  meadows,  tinging  the  higher  edges  of  the 
azure  mists  that  settle  in  the  ravines  of  INIount  Washington  with  ten- 
der rose-color,  and  flooding  the  upper  half  of  the  Rattlesnake  ridge 
with  purple,  sharply  ruled  from  a  basis  of  deep  bronze  green.  Our 
wagon  was  stopped  on  the  borders  of  the  bank,  about  three  miles  north 
of  the  centre  of  the  village,  on  the  edge  of  Bartlett,  where  the  mead- 
ows look  most  fascinating  ;  and  one  of  our  party,  who  was  thus  for 
the  first  time  introduced  to  the  quiet  and  the  luxuriant  loveliness  of 
this  village,  said,  "  I  did  not  suppose  that  there  was  on  the  earth  a 
landscape  so  exquisite  as  this."  The  only  other  comment  that  was 
made,  while  the  sun  was  setting,  was  the  quotation  of  the  Unes  froiT; 
Wordsworth, — 

,  full  many  a  spot 

Of  hidden  beautj'  have  I  chanced  to  espy 
Among  the  mountains;  never  one  like  this; 
So  lonesome,  and  so  perfectly  secure; 
Not  melancholy — no,  for  it  is  green, 
And  bright,  and  fertile,  furnished  in  itself 
With  the  few  needful  things  that  life  requires. 
In  rugged  arms  how  softly  does  it  lie,  , 

How  tenderh'  protected!     Far  and  near 
We  have  an  image  of  the  pristine  earth. 
The  planet  in  its  nakedness;  were  this 
Man's  only  dwelling,  sole  appointed  seat. 
First,  last,  and  single,  in  the  bi-eathing  world, 
It  could  not  be  more  quiet;  peace  is  here 
Or  nowhere;  days  unruffled  by  the  gale 
Of  public  news,  or  private;  years  that  puss 
Forgetfully;  uncalled  upon  to  pay 
The  common  penalties  of  mortal  life. 
Sickness,  or  accident,  or  grief,  or  pain. 
22* 


152  THE    WIUTE   HILLS. 

One  always  finds,  we  think,  on  a  return  to  North  Conway,  that  his 
recollections  of  its  lov^eliness  Avere  inadequate  to  the  reahty.  Such 
profuse  and  calm  beauty  sometimes  reigns  over  the  whole  village,  that 
it  seems  to  be  a  little  quotation  from  Arcadia,  or  a  suburb  of  Para- 
dise, Who  can  tell  how  it  is  that  the  trees  here  seem  of  moro 
aristocratic  elegance, — that  the  shadows  are  more  delicately  pen- 
cilled, — that  the  curves  of  the  brooks  are  more  seductive  than 
elsewhere  ?  Whj  do  the  nights  seem  more  tender  and  less  solemn  ? 
What  has  touched  the  ledgy  rocks  with  a  grace  that  softens 
the  impression  of  sublimity  and  age  ?  What  has  made  the  "  twi- 
light parks  "  of  pine  dim  with  a  pensive  rather  than  a  melancholy 
dusk  ? 

Certainly,  we  have  seen  no  other  region  of  New  England  that  is 
so  swathed  in  dreamy  charm,  A  few  years  ago,  the  jNIote  jNIountains 
were  ravaged  with  fire  ;  and  yet  their  lines  give  such  delight,  that 
few  moimtains  look  so  attractive  in  verdure  as  they  in  desolation. 
The  atmosphere  and  the  outlines  of  the  hills  seem  to  lull  rather  than 
stimulate.  There  are  no  crags,  no  pinnacles,  no  ramparts  of  rock,  no 
mountain  frown,  or  savageness  brought  into  contrast,  at  any  point,  with 
the  general  serene  beauty.  Kiarsarge  is  a  rough  and  scraggy  moun- 
tain when  you  attempt  to  climb  it ;  but  its  lines  ripple  off  softly  to  the 
plain.  Mount  Washington  does  not  seem  so  much  to  stand  up,  as  to 
lie  out  at  ease  across  the  north.  The  leonine  grandeur  is  there,  but 
it  is  the  lion  not  erect,  but  couchant,  a  little  sleepy,  stretching  out 
his  paws  and  enjoying  the  sun.  And  tired  Chocorua  appears  as  if 
looking  wistfully  dow^n  into 

a  land 
In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon. 

Indeed  there  is  no  place  in  New  England  Avhich  better  fits  one  to 
read  and  enjoy  Tennyson's  Lotus-Eaters.  The  lines  of  the  land- 
scape have  something  of  the  luscious  delay  and  lingering  undulation 
?vhich  the  poem  has. 

There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 
Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass, 


THE    SACO   VALLEY 


153 


Or  night-dews  on  still  waters  between  walls 

Of  shadowy  granite,  in  a  gleaming  pass; 

Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies 

Than  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes; 
Musio  that  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the  blissful  skies 

Here  are  cool  mosses  deep, 

And  through  the  moss  the  ivies  creep. 

And  in  the  stream  the  long-leaved  flowers  weep, 
And  from  the  crnggy  ledge  the  poppy  hangs  in  sleep. 


And  then  the  sunsets  of  North  Conway !  Coleridgo  asked  Mont 
Blanc  if  he  had  "  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star  m  his  steep 
-jourse."  It  is  time  for  some  poet  to  put  the  question  to  those 
bewitching  ehu-sprinkled  acres  that  border  the  Saco.  by  what  sorcery 


154  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

thej  evoke,  evening  after  evening,  upon  the  heavens  that  watch  them, 
such  lavish  and  Itahan  bloom.  Nay  it  is  not  ItaUan,  for  the  basis  of 
its  beauty  is  pure  blue,  and  the  skies  of  Italy  are  not  nearly  so  blue 
as  those  of  New  England.  One  sees  more  clear  sky  in  eight  summer 
weeks  in  Conway,  probably,  than  in  the  compass  of  an  Italian  year. 
'Che  air  of  Italy  is  more  opalescent,  and  seems  to  hold  the  light  in 
luscious  repose,  and  yet  a  little  unsteady  in  tint.  But  for  pomp  of 
bright,  clear,  contrasted  flames  on  a  deep  and  transparent  sky,  the 
visitors  of  North  Conway,  on  the  sunset  bank  that  overlooks  the 
meadows,  enjoy  the  frequent  privilege  of  a  spectacle  which  the  sun 
sinking  behind  the  Notch  conjures  for  them,  such  as  he  rarely  dis- 
plays to  the  dwellers  by  the  Arno  or  the  inhabitants  of  Naples.  How 
often  have  we  seen  such  shows  from  that  bank,  while  the  evening 
song  of  birds  came  up  from  the  near  orchards  and  the  distant  maple- 
groves  of  the  meadows  below,  as  it  seemed  too  wasteful  in  Nature  to 
have  prepared  for  the  fading  canopy  of  one  small  village  and  of  one 
summer  evening !  Then  was  the  time  for  the  miracle  of  Joshua — for 
some  artist-priest,  like  Turner,  to  bid  the  sun  stand  still,  that  such 
gorgeousness  might  be  a  garniture  of  more  than  a  few  rapid  moments 
upon  the  cloud-flecked  pavihon  of  the  air.  And  as  the  brightness 
burned  off  from  the  hills  behind,  and  the  hastening  fire  mounted  from 
the  lower  clouds  to  stain  the  cirrus,  and  the  west  began  to  glow  with 
the  upcast  beams  of  the  sunken  sun,  one  could  not  but  feel  the  aspira- 
tion connected  with  the  fleeting  magnificence  of  sunset,  which  is  not 
the  least  marvellous  passage  of  Goethe's  Faust.  We  are  indebted  for 
the  translation  to  the  kindness  of  a  friend,  whose  knowledge  of  Ger- 
man is  equalled  only  by  his  artistic  command  of  Enghsh,  and  whc 
has  givin  a  full  equivalent  of  the  original  in  rhythm  and  grace. 

He  yields,  he  vanishes,  the  day  is  gone, 

Yonder  he  speeds,  nnd  sheds  new  life  forever. 

01  had  I  wings  to  rise  and  follow  on 

Still  after  him  with  fond  endeavor! 

Then  should  I  see  beneath  my  feet 

The  still  world's  everlasting  vesper, 

Each  summit  tipp'd  with  fire,  each  valley's  silence  sweet 

The  silver  brook,  the  river's  molten  jasper. 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  155 

And  nought  should  stay  my  God-competing  flight, 

Though  savage  mountains  now  with  all  their  ravines, 

And  now  the  ocean  with  its  tempered  havens, 

Successive  greet  the  astonished  sight. 

The  God  at  length  appears  as  he  were  sinking; 

But  still  the  impulse  is  renewed, 

I  hasten  on,  the  light  eternal  drinking, 

The  day  pursuing,  by  the  night  pursued. 

The  heavens  above,  and  under  me  the  billows. 

A  pleasant  dream!     Meanwhile  the  sun  has  fled. 

In  vain,  alas!  the  spirit's  wings  are  spread. 

Never  will  bodily  wings  appear  as  fellows. 

Of  course  it  must  not  be  understood  that  North  Conway  is  always 
thus  beautiful.  The  sunshine,  even  when  the  days  are  clear,  some- 
times produces  only  journey-work.  Besides  the  prismatic  beams  and 
the  actinic  ray,  there  is  the  artistic  quality  in  the  light  which,  at 
times,  refuses  to  leave  its  fountains,  and  the  scene  is  prosaic.  Now 
and  then  the  Saco,  swelled  by  the  bomity  of  a  score  of  mountain 
heights,  overflows  its  bed,  sweeps  the  whole  surface  of  the  intervale, 
and  mounts  to  the  very  edge  of  the  bank  on  which  the  village  is  built. 
We  cannot  prophesy  these  baptisms.  So  we  cannot  tell  when  the 
spiritual  heights  from  which  Nature  issues  will  unseal  their  opulence, 
and  send  the  freshet  of  bloom, — when  the  "finer  light  in  light"  will 
break  its  bounds  and  give  us 

one  of  the  chamKid  days 
When  the  genius  of  God  doth  flow, 

and  the  Avhole  valley  will  turn  into  a  goblet,  brimming  with  beauty 
too  liberal  to  be  contained  by  the  mountain  walls  that  are  tinted  with 
its  weird  waves.  By  hurrying  through  the  mountains,  we  may  lose 
the  luxury  and  revelations  of  one  of  these  ineffable  atmospheres,  when 
Italy  and  New  England  seem  interfused,  and  the  light  is  a  compound 
of  molten  diamond  and  opal. 

In  his  drawing  of  North  Conway,  too,  oar  artist  has  softened  and 
improved  the  village  portion  of  its  physiognomy.  One  cannot  help 
being  struck  with  its  capacity  of  improvement.  If  some  duke,  or 
merchant-prince  with  unlimited  income,  could  put  the  resources  of 
landscape  taste  upon  it,  adorn  it  with  cottages,  hedge  the  farms  upon 


156  THE   WHITE  HILLS. 

the  meadows,  span  the  road  with  elms,  cultivate  the  border-hills  as 
far  up  as  there  is  good  soil,  the  village  might  be  made  as  lovelj  a 
spot  as  it  would  be  possible  to  combine  out  of  the  elements  of  New 
England  scenery.  The  beauty  of  the  place  may  be  measured  by  the 
fact,  that,  when  it  was  first  sought  for  summer  boarding  or  residence, 
people  seldom  noticed  the  inversion  of  taste  which  was  shown  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  houses  and  grounds.  The  barns  in  the  most 
gightly  places,  the  ugly  fences  on  the  intervale,  the  sandy  banks  that 
begged  for  sods  to  prevent  them  from  fretting  and  heating  the  eyes, 
which  on  a  sultry  day  turn  towards  the  cool  verdure  below,  were 
drowned  out  of  oifending  prominence  by  the  overpowering  loveliness 
that  enveloped  them. 

One  can  hardly  conceive  what  heightened  charm  a  very  little  cul- 
tivation on  the  sides  of  a  mountain  will  add  to  the  landscape.  Mr. 
Emerson  has  interpreted  the  friendship  of  Nature  for  human  art,  in 
those  lines  that  sing  themselves  now  through  the  whole  cultivated 
mind  of  our  country  : — 

• 
Karth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon 
As  the  best  gem  upon  lier  zone; 
And  Jlornnig  opes  with  haste  her  lids, 
To  gaze  upon  the  Pyramids; 
O'er  England's  abbeys  bends  the  sky 
As  on  its  friends  a  kindred  eye; 
For  out  of  Thought's  interior  sphere, 
These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air; 
And  Nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 
Adopted  them  into  lier  race, 
And  granted  them  an  equal  date 
With  Andes  and  with  Ararat. 

"\V"e  have  seen  a  common  rye-field  of  some  fifty  acres  on  the  slope  of 
Mount  Moriah,  in  the  Androscoggin  Valley,  which  made  a  visit  to  the 
village  of  Gorham  a  greater  delight,  by  the  addition  of  its  strong  and 
lively  green  to  the  drapery  of  the  mountain,  and  the  exquisite  con- 
crast,  at  evening,  of  its  gold  with  the  tender  purple  of  the  forests 
above.  Nature  had  plainly  been  longing  for  the  necessity  of  the 
agriculture  that  would  bind  a  new  sheaf  for  her  harvest  of  hues,  and 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  157 

suggest  how  the  monotonous  mountain  robe  might  be  changed  for  the 
brocade  of  art.  This  change  has  commenced  in  North  Conwaj. 
Tasteful  residences  have  ah'eady  begun  to  sprinkle  the  village  ;  and 
although  we  may  not  Hve  to  see  Kiarsarge  draped  with  farms,  or 
the  desolation  of  the  Mote  Mountain  blossom  as  the  rose,  it  is  possible 
that  the  general  charm  of  the  "  Invitation  "  which  one  of  our  own 
poets,  who  is  a  faithful  lover  of  North  Conway,  has  inwoven  Avith  his 
verse,  may  yet  in  our  lifetime  be  added  to  the  natural  enticements  of 
the  landscape  : — 

The  warm  wide  hills  are  muffled  thick  with  green, 
And  Muttering  swallows  fill  the  air  with  song. 
Come  to  our  cottage-home.     Lowly  it  stands, 
Set  in  a  vale  of  flowers,  deep  fringed  with  grass. 
The  sweetbrier  (noiseless  herald  of  the  place) 
Flies  with  its  odor,  meeting  all  who  roam 
With  welcome  footsteps  to  our  small  abode. 
No  splendid  cares  live  here — no  barren  shows. 
The  bee  makes  harbor  at  our  perfumed  door, 
And  hums  all  day  his  breez}'  note  of  joy. 

Come,  0  my  friend!  and  share  om-  festal  month, 
And  while  the  west  wind  walks  the  leafy  woods, 
While  orchard-blooms  are  wliite  in  all  the  lanes, 
And  brooks  make  music  in  the  deep,  cool  dells, 
Enjoy  the  golden  moments  as  they  pass. 
And  gain  new  strength  for  days  that  are  to  come. 

When  the  time  comes  that  this  poetry  by  Fields  shall  be  the  type  of 
the  cultivation  in  the  village.  North  Conway  will  be  lifted  out  of  the 
New  Hampshire  county  in  which  -it  is  taxed,  and  be  the  adytum  of  a 
temple  where  God  is  to  be  worshipped  as  the  Infinite  Artist,  in  joy. 

We  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  life  which  the  scenery  of  the  vil- 
lage was  created  to  enclose,  through  an  extract  from  a  letter  which 
once  enriched  the  columns  of  the  Boston  "  Journal  of  Music."  Of 
course  it  is  from  the  pen  of  the  accomplished  editor,  whose  fine  sense 
for  natural  beauty  is  in  chord  with  his  cultured  appreciation  of  the 
most  spiritual  of  the  arts.  "  Sit  down  with  us  upon  the  door-step 
here  of  our  friend's  hospitable  summer  home,  just  as  the  sun  of  a 
most  gorgeous  day  goes  down  behind  the  long  level  ridgo  of  the 

23 


158 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


superb  Mote  Mountain,  that  bounds  the  scene  before  us,  its  wooded 
wall  upreared  as  for  the  walk  of  some  angel  sentinel  that  shall  keep 
holy  Avatch  and  ward  all  night  over  the  lovely  mountain-girded  scene. 
A  little  later,  one  may  almost  fancy  he  perceives  the  sheen  of  the 


^^f^>-' 


colossal  armor  gleaming  up  there  in  the  starlight!  Now  the  sun 
sends  mingled  light  and  lengthened  shadows  over  the  picturesque 
labors  of  the  haymakers,  in  the  broad,  green,  beautiful  meadows  that 
spread,  a  mile  wide,  waving  with  grass  and  grain  and  patches  of 


THE    SACO    VALLEY.  159 

glistening  corn,  clear  to  the  mountain's  feet,  to  the  hieroglyphic 
rocky  faces  of  the  curious  ledges,  that  form  its  outposts  in  front,  and 
to  the  winding  Saco  River,  -whose  course  is  marked  with  gracefully 
overhanging  elms  and  oaks  and  maples,  that  also  stud  the  plain  in 
scattered  groups,  and  shade  the  brooks  that  ramble,  musically  gurg- 
ling, to  the  river.  A  lovelier  plain  was  never  spread  before  a  poet's 
feet,  to  woo  the  Avilling  thoughts  abroad.  A  scene  of  plenty,  purity, 
and  peace.  On  our  right,  in  the  north,  loom  the  White  Mountains, 
blue  and  misty  and  yet  boldly  outlined.  There  is  Mount  Washington, 
rearing  his  broad  Jove-like  throne  amid  his  great  brothers  and  sup- 
porters ;  these,  Avith  innumerable  lesser  mountains,  (each  Olympian 
enough  when  clouds  cap  and  conceal  the  grander  ones  behind  them,) 
gaze  solemnly  and  serenely  down  our  broad  valley,  and  look  new 
meanings  in  the  ceaseless  changes  of  the  air  and  light. 

"  In  the  forenoon,  when  every  leaf  and  blade  of  grass  was  stirring 
before  the  strong,  purifying  west  wind,  and  when  all  this  motion 
strangely  contrasted  witli  the  clear  still  blue  sky  above,  and  with  the 
exquisitely  white  fleecy  clouds  that  rested  on  the  summits  of  Mount 
Washington  and  of  his  lower  neighbors,  we  strolled  away  over  the 
meadows  alone.  It  was  a  magnificent  scene  ;  the  tall  ripe  grass,  the 
corn  and  oats  and  bearded  barley,  bending  and  tossing  in  the  wind 
about  us,  and  running  in  incessant  waves,  Avhich  it  was  an  inexhaus- 
tible delight  to  watch,  and  try  to  seize  the  outline  of  the  law  of  such 
infinitely  varied  and  yet  unitary  motion.  It  was  Nature's  best  type 
of  the  Fugue  in  music  ;  the  same  perpetual  pursuit  and  tendency  of 
many  to  one  end,  yet  never  ending. 

"  Our  friend's  house,  which  is  just  back  from  the  road  by  which 
the  crowded  stage-loads  of  scenery  seekers  pass  through  the  Notch 
of  the  White  Mountains,  stands  on  a  raised  plateau  that  rims  the 
meadow  foresaid  ;  and  here  now,  on  the  door-step  sit  we  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening,  filling  sight  and  soul  with  all  this  beauty.  The  sun 
has  gone .  down,  and  the  new  moon  has  lifted  her  pure  silvery  cres- 
cent from  behind  the  Mote.     We  gaze  upon  it  through  the  leafy 

23* 


IGO  THE   WHITE   HHJ.S. 

arches  of  three  tall,  stately  elms,  that  stand  on  guard  upon  the  road- 
side just  before  the  house.  The  world  without  makes  music  to  the 
world  within  ;  the  outward  scene  is  like  a  glowing  reflex  of  the  soul's 
ideal  and  harmonious  moods.  Nature  and  conscious  life  are  one.  It 
seems  just  the  spot  where  one — with  fitting  company — might  reahze 
a  perfectly  artistic  life.  Poetry  might  bathe  her  visionary  eyes  in 
ever  new  and  quickening  light,  and  choose  her  language  out  of  the 
words  which  God's  finger  has  traced  in .  innumerable  forms  and  types 
of  beauty  and  of  meaning  all  around  her.  Philosophy  might  medi- 
tate the  problems  of  life  and  eternity,  Avith  every  report  of  the  five 
outward  senses  loyally  conspiring,  not  disturbing.  Art  might  illus- 
trate and  complete  all  with  a  human  meaning,  and  realize  the  pictures 
and  the  statues  and  the  noble  edifices  which  it  sees  hinted  in  the 
landscape.  For  one,  we  would  contribute  far  more  readily,  extrava- 
gant as  it  might  be,  to  some  colossal  marble  statue  or  architectural 
pile,  that  should  cast  its  shadow  yonder  from  the  ridge  of  the  Mote 
Mountain,  than  to  that  civilized  absurdity  of  the  Washington  monu- 
ment scheme  at  the  Capitol.  Music,  of  the  rarest,  highest,  most 
artistic,  would  sound  as  fitting  and  as  truly  home-like  here,  as  do  the 
native  birds  and  waterfalls.  And  worship  finds  a  solemn,  heaven- 
suggesting  altar  in  each  mountain  height. 

"  What  music-lover  has  not  often  longed  that  he  might  hear  the  fine 
strains  of  the  masters  in  the  summer,  in  the  open  air,  amid  nature's 
free  and  grand  surroundings,  and  not  be  doomed  to  know  such  chiefly 
in  the  ungrateful  artificial  limits  of  the  concert  room,  with  gas  light 
and  unsympathetic  crowds.  Here,  by  a  rare  luck,  we  taste  this 
pleasure,  this  doubly  perfect  harmony.  A  piano,  almost  a  rarer 
wonder  here  to  simple  villagers  than  the  first  locomotive,  has  but  this 
day  arrived,  nor  are  there  wanting  cunning  fingers  to  woo  forth  its 
music  ;  and  as  our  eyes  range  the  meadows  and  the  mountains,  deli- 
cate strains  of  Chopin,  notturnes,  preludes,  and  mazourkas,  steal  from 
the  house  and  float  like  the  voice  of  our  own  soul's  selectest,  inmost 
thoughts  and  feelings  over  the  whole  scene.  And  hark !  now  sister 
TOices  blend  :  the  angel  trio  from  '  Elijah,'  Lift  thine  eyes  !     Were 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  161 

we  not  already  lifting  them,  and  to  the  mountains  ?  And  melodies 
of  Robert  Franz,  [Nan  die  Schatten  dunkeln,  &c.,)  as  fresh  and  gen- 
uine and  full  of  soul,  and  free  from  hacknied  commonplace,  as  if  they 
had  been  born  among  these  mountains,  sing  to  us  and  sing  for  us,  and 
bridge  over  that  awkward  chasm  of  conscious  dumbness,  Avhich  some- 
times so  painfully  separates  us  from  the  life  and  soul  of  that  outward 
beauty  which  seems  to  challenge  us  for  something  corresponding  on 
our  part.  The  fairest  landscape  dies  and  turns  cold  before  us,  and 
looks  ghost-like  and  unreal,  often,  as  the  moon  pales  before  the  sun, 
for  the  want  of  something  )nore  than  nature,  such  as  friends,  or  Art, 
or  intellectual  study,  or  true  worship,  or  some  creative  action  or  ex- 
pression on  our  own  part,  Avhich  shall  meet  Nature  half  way  and  fulfil 
the  purpose  of  her  invitation.  Such  is  Music  to  our  idle  group  (and 
yet  how  richly  occupied)  beneath  the  moon  and  stars  here  this  sweet 
evening." 

After  some  hours  kindred  in  artistic  privilege  with  those  which  our 
friend  has  thus  described,  it  was  our  fortune,  in  returning  under  a 
dark  sky  to  the  hotel,  to  see  a  remarkable  exhibition  over  the  North 
Conway  meadows,  produced  by. a  very  humble  cause.  The  hot  even- 
ing had  brought  out  the  fire-flies  by  the  acre  over  the  intervale  ;  and 
looking  down  and  off -from  the  banks,  forty  feet  in  the  dusk,  while  the 
bottom  was  invisible,  it  was  a  grander  spectacle  than  we  can  describe, 
to  see  two  or  three  miles  of  darkness  sparkling  with  winged  stars.  It 
required  but  little  fancy  to  catch  the  outline  of  mimic  constellations — 
momentary  Dippers,  ephemeral  Pleiades,  evanescent  parodies  in  the 
insect  phosphorus  of  colossal  Orion  with  his  club  of  suns.  And  let 
us  not  thhik  that  the  boundless  and  persistent  splendor  of  the  skies  is 
insulted  by  this  comparison.  For  let  us  remember  that,  to  the  in- 
seeing  eye,  the  Infinite  Art  is  shown  no  less  in  the  veining  of  insect 
wings,  and  that  vital  energy  which  shed  those  twinkles  of  a  second 
over  the  evening  fields,  than  in  the  whirl  of  the  monstrous  balls  that 
sprinkle  light  through  the  deeps  of  a  firmament,  and  which,  in  the 
measui-e  of  His  large  purposes,  may  be  only  flickers  of  a  moment  on 
a  larger  tract  of  gloom.     Is  it  not  written,  "  All  of  them  shall  wax 


162  THE   WHITE   HH.LS. 

old  like  a  garment ;  as  a  vesture  shalt  thou  change  them,  and  they 
shall  be  changed  "  ? 

,  "  There's  nothing  great 

Nor  small,"  has  said  a  poet  of  our  day, 
(Whose  voice  will  ring  beyond  the  curfew  of  eve 
And  not  be  thrown  out  by  the  matin's  bell  ) 
And  truly,  I  reiterate,  .  .  .  nothing's  small! 
No  lily-muffled  hum  of  a  summer  bee, 
But  finds  some  coupling  with  the  spinning  stars; 
No  pebble  at  your  foot,  but  proves  a  sphere; 
No  chaffinci),  but  implies  the  cherubim: 
And, — glancing  on  my  own  thin,  veined  wrist, — 
In  such  a  little  tremor  of  the  blood 
The  whole  strong  clamor  of  a  vehement  soul 
Doth  utter  itself  distinct.     Earth's  crammed  with  heaven, 
And  every  common  bush  afire  with  God: 
But  only  he  who  sees,  takes  off  his  shoes. 

If  now,  turning  in  another  direction,  we  seek  to  explain  the  differ- 
ence in  charm  between  North  Conway  and  other  villages  of  the  moun- 
tains, we  must  bear  in  mind  that  there  is  the  same  difference  between 
scenes  in  nature,  that  there  is  between  words  when  put  together  at 
random  and  words  arranged  in  sentences.  Ordinarily,  hills  and 
streams,  trees  and  fields,  convey  by  their  arrangement  no  definite 
impression,  and  hold  attention  by  no  intellectual  charm.  They  sim- 
ply supply  the  scattered  vocabulary  of  line  and  flash,  tint  and  form, 
by  means  of  which  the  artist  rewrites  his  symmetrical  thought. 
Truth,  for  the  purposes  and  order  of  science,  is  furnished  by  one  tree 
as  well  as  another  ;  by  a  stream,  whether  it  leap  in  musical  cascade 
or  flow  calmly  to  the  sea ;  by  the  mountain,  regardless  of  the  slope 
of  its  wall,  or  the  shape  of  its  crest.  But  for  purposes  of  art  and 
artistic  joy,  the  disposition  and  proportion  of  materials  are  all  im- 
portant ;  for  thus  only  is  land  lifted  into  landscape.  It  is  pleasant  to 
find  in  any  scene  one  or  two  instances  of  combination — rock  with 
stream,  meadow  and  hill,  dip  and  cone — that  will  satisfy  the  eye,  and 
offer  a  sentence  or  a  rhyme  of  the  omnipresent  Artist.  It  is  delight- 
ful v^hen  we  find  a  paragraph  or  a  long  passage,  that  obeys  the  gram- 
mar of  beauty,  and  prints  a  rounded  conception  of  the  Creator.  Then 
the  day  is  too  short  for  the  ever-renewmg  joy  of  vision.     The  distinc- 


THE   SACO  VALLEY.  168 

tion  of  North  Conway  is,  that  it  is  a  large  natural  poem  in  landscape. 
Up  to  the  limit  where  art  can  come  in  as  improvement,  it  is  finished 
by  the  natural  forces  with  a  fine  pencil.  Every  arc  of  the  circle 
which  the  eye  breaks  off  by  a  direct  gaze, — from  the  scarred  gorges 
of  the  range  that  closes  the  view  on  the  northwest,  to  the  cheerful 
openness  of  the  southerly  outlook, — is  a  picture  ready  for  the  can- 
vas, having  definite  sense,  sentiment,  and  rhythm.  When  one  enters 
it,  it  is  the  opening  of  a  volume  of  divine  verse,  with  strophe  and 
antistrophe  of  mountain  majesty,  with  eclogues,  and  idyls,  and  son- 
nets, and  lyrics,  wrought  out  of  meadows  and  gi'oves,  and  secluded 
nooks  and  leaping  streams. 

It  would  require  more  space  than  our  volume  will  allow,  to  do  jus- 
tice to  the  various  charms  into  which  this  Avide  circle  of  beauty  is 
broken  by  walks  and-  excursions  and  drives.  One  of  the  prominent 
pleasures  of  a  clear  and  cool  day  is  to  find  different  points  for  study- 
ing Mount  Washington.  In  what  novelties  of  shape,  dignity  and 
effect  he  may  be  thrown  by  the  rambles  of  a  morning  !  We  may  see 
his  steep,  torn  walls  rising  far  off  beyond  a  hill  which  Ave  are  ascend- 
ing, and  which  hides  from  us  most  of  the  foregi-ound  in  the  A^illage 
and  the  base  on  which  the  mountain  stands ;  or  may  catch  a  glimpse 
of  him  through  a  couple  of  trees  that  stand  sentinel  to  keep  other 
mountains  of  the  range  from  an  intrusion  that  Avill  reduce  his  majesty ; 
or  may  seek  a  position  over  a  grove  whose  breezy  plumes  afford  the 
most  cheerful  contrast  of  motion  and  color  to  set  off  his  gray  gran- 
deur and  majestic  rest ;  or  from  different  points  near  the  Saco  may 
relate  him,  by  changing  angles,  into  fresh  combinations  with  the 
level  verdui-e  of  the  meadoAVS,  or  Avith  some  curve  of  its  brooks,  or 
some  graceful  thicket  of  its  maples.  Such  a  Avalk  upon  the  meadows 
over  its  roughnesses,  its  occasional  rods  of  marsh,  its  ditch  here  and 
there,  useful  to  the  farmer  but  not  dehghtful  to  feet  in  search  of  the 
picturesque,  its  rickety  fences  to  be  chmbed, — and  all  for  the  sake  of 
catching  a  ncAV  attitude,  or  a  ncAv  expression  of  the  monarch  hill  of 
New  England,  certainly  tempts  one  who  is  familiar  Avith  Stirling's 
poems  to  repeat  to  himself  the  lines — 


164  THE   WHITE   HHXS. 

I  looked  upon  a  plain  of  greec, 

That  some  one  called  the  Land  of  Prose 

Where  many  living  things  are  seen, 
In  movement  or  repose. 

I  looked  upon  a  stately  hill 

That  well  was  named  the  Mount  of  Song, 

Where  golden  shadows  wait  at  will 
The  woods  and  streams  among. 

But  most  this  fact  my  wonder  bred, 

Though  known  by  all  the  nobly  wise, 
It  was  the  mountain  streams  that  fed 

The  fair  green  plain's  amenities. 

But  let  us  remember  that  a  climbing  of  Mount  Washington,  along 
the  verj  track  of  those  delicate  dimples  and  golden-edged  shadows, 
would  make  it  seem  intensely  enough  the  "  Land  of  Prose,"  while 
the  poetry  and  the  gold  would  have  floated  off  upon  the  meadow, 
to  efface  all  suggestion  of  ditches  and  marsh,  and  make  it  one 
strip  of  shaven  and  fascinating  lawn.  And  we  need  not  go  so  far  as 
the  nearest  outwork  of  the  White  Mountain  wall  to  see  this  poetry, 
which  the  lowlands  ahvays  refer  to  the  mountains,  flung  back  again. 
The  sunset  bank,  near  the  Kiarsarge  House  in  the  centre  of  Conway 
village,  or  still  better,  the  roadside,  near  the  little  Methodist  church 
on  the  edge  of  Bartlett,  opens  the  meadow  in  such  loveliness,  that 
one  might  believe  he  was  looking  through  an  air  that  had  never 
enwrapped  any  sin,  upon  a  floor  of  some  nook  of  the  primitive  Eden. 
What  more  appropriate  reverence  can  we  pay  to  this  intervale,  be- 
yond all  question,  as  seen  from  the  point  last  mentioned,  the  most 
entrancing  piece  of  meadow  which  New  England  mountains  guard, 
or  upon  which  the  setting  sun  lavishes  his  gold,  than  to  connect  with 
it  Mr.  Ruskin's  analysis  of  the  beauty  and  apostrophe  to  the  uses  of 
the  grass  ? 

"  Gather  a  single  blade  of  grass,  and  examine  for  a  minute,  quietly, 
its  narrow  sword-shaped  strip  of  fluted  green.  Nothing,  as  it  seems 
there,  of  notable  goodness  or  beauty.  A  very  little  strength,  and  a 
very  little  tallness,  and  a  few  delicate  long  lines  meeting  in  a  point, — 
not  a  perfect  point  neither,  but  blunt  and  unfinished,  by  no  means  a 


THE    SACO   VALLEY 


165 


creditable  or  apparently  much  cared  for  example  of  Nature's  work 
manship  ;  made,  as  it  seems,  only  to  be  trodden  on  to-day  and  to- 
morrow to  be  cast  into  the  oven  ;  and  a  little  pale  and  hollow  stalk, 
feeble  and  flaccid,  leading  down  to  the  dull  brown  fibres  of  roots. 
And  yet,  think  of  it  well,  and  judge  whether  of  all  the  gorgeous 
flowers  that  beam  in  summer  air,  and  of  all  strong  and  goodly  trees, 
pleasant  to  the  eyes  and  good  for  food, — stately  palm  and  pine,  strong 


ash  and  oak,  scented  citron,  burdened  vine, — there  be  any  by  man  so 
deeply  loved,  by  God  so  highly  graced,  as  that  narrow  point  of  feeble 

green 

"  Consider  what  we  owe  merely  to  the  meadow  grass,  to  the  cover- 
ing of  the  dark  ground  by  that  glorious  enamel,  by  the  companies  of 
those  soft,  and  countless  and  peaceful  spears.  The  fields  !  Follow 
but  forth  for  a  little  time  the  thouirhts  of  all  that  we  ou2:ht  to  recoff- 


166  THE    WHITE    IHLLS. 

nize  in  those  words.  All  spring  and  summer  is  in  them, — tne  walks 
by  silent  scented  paths, — the  rests  in  noonday  heat, — the  joy  of  herds 
and  flocks, — the  power  of  all  shepherd  life  and  meditation, — the  life 
of  sunlight  upon  the  Avorld,  falling  in  emerald  streaks,  and  failing  in 
soft  blue  shadows,  Avhere  else  it  would  have  struck  upon  the  dark 
mould,  or  scorching  dust, — pictures  beside  the  pacing  brooks, — soft 
banks  and  knolls  of  lowly  hills, — thymy  slopes  of  down  overlooked 
by  the  blue  line  of  lifted  sea, — crisp  lawns  all  dim  with  early  dew,  or 
smooth  in  evening  warmth  of  barred  sunshine,  dinted  by  happy  feet, 
and  softening  in  their  fall  the  sound  of  loving  voices  ;  all  these  are 
summed  in  those  simple  words  ;  and  these  are  not  all.  We  may  not 
measure  to  the  full  the  depth  of  this  heavenly  gift,  in  our  own  land  ; 
though  still,  as  we  thuik  of  it  longer,  the  infinite  of  that  meadow  sweetr 
ness,  Shakespeare's  peculiar  joy,  would  open  on  us  more  and  more,  yet 
we  have  it  but  in  part.  Go  out  in  the  spring  time,  among  the  meadows 
that  slope  from  the  shores  of  the  SavIss  lakes  to  the  roots  of  their 
lower  mountains.  There,  mingled  with  the  taller  gentians  and  the 
white  narcissus,  the  grass  grows  deep  and  free  ;  and  as  you  folloAv 
the  winding  mountain  paths,  beneath  arching  boughs  all  veiled  and 
dim  with  blossom, — paths  that  forever  droop  and  rise  over  the  green 
banks  and  mounds  sweeping  down  in  scented  undulation,  steep  to  the 
blue  water,  studded  here  and  there  with  new-mown  heaps,  filling  all 
the  air  with  fainter  sweetness, — look  up  towards  the  higher  hills, 
where  the  Avaves  of  everlasting  green  roll  silently  into  their  long  inlets 
among  the  shadows  4)f  the  pines ;  and  we  may,  perhaps,  at  last  know 
the  meaning  of  those  quiet  Avords  of  the  147th  Psalm,  "He  maketh 
grass  to  grow  upon  the  mountains." 

One  of  the  favorite  excursions  of  those  Avho  remain  long  in  North 
ConAvay  is  to  the  "  Ledges,"  Thompson's  Falls,  and  Echo  Lake,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Saco,  the  extreme  distance  being  only  some 
three  miles.  The  Falls  Aoav  doA\m  a  spur  of  the  Mote  Mountain,  just 
in  the  rear  of  the  loAver  Ledge.  The  loose  rocks  are  throAvn  about  in 
such  complete  confusion  that  it  strikes  the  eye,  fresh  from  the  finished 


THE   SACO    VALLEY.  167 

andscape  arouiid  the  meadows,  as  a  patcli  of  chaos  too  obstinate  to 
be  organized  into  the  general  Cosmos.  The  highest  of  the  Ledges, 
which  are  bold,  broad  granite  bluffs,  rises  about  nine  hundred  and 
sixty  feet  above  the  Saco.  The  river  must  be  forded  twice  to  reach 
them,  which  adds  greatly  to  the  charm  of  the  excursion.  The  lower 
Ledge  is  almost  perpendicular,  and  the  jagged  face  of  the  rock,  richly 
weather-stained,  reminds  one  of  the  Saguenay  Cliffs,  which  it  strongly 
resembles  also  in  the  impression  it  makes  by  its  soaring  gloom.  An 
easy  climb  of  a  hundred  feet  carries  one  to  a  singular  cavity  in  this 
Ledge,  which  visitors  have  named  "  The  Cathedral."  And  truly  the 
waters,  frosts  and  storms  that  scooped  and  grooved  its  curves  and 
niches,  seemed  to  have  combined  in  frolic  mimicry  of  Gothic  art. 
The  cave  is  forty  feet  in  depth  and  about  sLxty  in  height,  and  the 
outermost  rock  of  the  roofing  spans  the  entrance  with  an  arch,  which, 
half  of  the  way,  is  as  symmetrical  as  if  an  architect  had  planned  it. 
Was  it  skill  or  patience  that  the  gnomes  failed  in,  that  excavated  or 
heaved  it ;  or  did  they  design  to  produce  in  their  wild  sport  merely 
torsos  of  the  majesty  of  a  great  minster  ? 

From  this  deep  chasm,  Avhere  quivering  sunbeams  play 

Upon  its  loftiest  crags,  mine  eyes  beliold 

A  gloomy  Niche,  capacious,  blank,  and  cold; 

A  concave,  free  from  slu'ubs  and  mosses  gray; 

In  semblance  fresh,  as  if,  with  dire  affray. 

Some  statue,  placed  amid  these  regions  old 

For  tutelary  service,  thence  had  rolled, 

Startling  the  flight  of  timid  Yesterday! 

Was  it  by  mortals  sculptured? — weary  slaves 

Of  slow  endeavor!  or  abruptly  cast 

Into  rude  shape  by  fire,  with  roaring  blast 

Tempestuously  let  loose  from  central  caves? 

Or  fashioned  by  the  turbulence  of  waves. 

Then,  when  o'er  highest  hills  the  Deluge  pass'd? 

The  whole  front  of  the  recess  is  shaded  by  trees,  which  kindly 
stand  apart  just  enough  to  frame  off  Kiarsarge  in  lovely  symmetry, — 
so  that  a  more  romantic  resting  place  for  an  hour  or  two  in  a  warm 
afternoon  can  hardly  be  imagined.  We  have  said  that  the  measure 
and  spirit  of  "  The  Lotos  Eaters  "  harmonize  with  the  summer  air 


168  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

and  landscape  of  North  Conway.  But  think  of  driving  across  those 
meadows  in  a  hreezj  afternoon  and  taking  a  poem  fresh  from  the  hps 
of  Tennyson  !  No,  we  do  not  pretend  that  such  has  ever  been  our 
fortune  ;  but  we  do  say  that  in  a  wagon,  as  we  drove  across  the  inter- 
vale, under  the  shadow  of  the  maple  groves,  and  twice  through  the 
hurrying  river  which  nearly  buried  the  wheels  with  its  merry  flood, 
we  caught  the  first  echo  that  had  fallen  on  our  ears,  this  side  the  sea, 
from  the  richest  strain  of  the  Laureate's  silver  bugle.  It  was  when  a 
lady  chanted  in  joyous  soprano  to  a  delighted  party, — 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying; 
Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

0  hark,  0  hear!  how  thin  and  clear, 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going; 
0  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar. 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying  ; 
Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying.  . 

0  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky, 

They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river; 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  grow  fjrever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying. 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

Is  not  that  an  association  to  glorify  forever  in  memory  the  soft 
and  drooping  clouds  that  overhung  the  Saco,  the  lights  and  shadows 
that  skimmed,  widening,  melting,  ever-renewing  their  fruitless  but  joy- 
ous chase  over  the  billoAvy  grass,  and  the  sombre  patience  of  Mount 
Washington,  himself  flecked  with  mottled  light  and  gloom  ?  Of 
course  the  echoes  from  Echo  Lake,  which  lies  in  front  of  "  The 
Cathedral,"  sounded  that  afternoon  more  mellow,  floating  back  from 
"  Elfland,"  rather  than  from  the  face  of  a  granite  wall.  And  yet 
one  visit  to  the  lake  by  moonlight  lies  even  more  softly  and  winningly 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  1^9 

in  memory.  The  savage  twin-cliffs  and  the  wooded  link  that  unites 
them,  like  the  bond  of  the  Siamese  pair,  reflected  in  that  little  sheet 
of  water,  seemed  a  picture  rather  than  a  reality — a  dream  lying  yet 
before  the  imagination  of  the  Creator,  rather  than  the  embodiment  of 
it  in  the  rough  elements  of  nature.  An  evening  spent  there  when 
the  full  rising  moon  silvers  "  The  Ledges,"  and  burnishes  the  bosom 
of  the  lake,  and  sheds  its  beams  among  its  dark  pine  fringes,  to  slip 
slowly  down  the  stately  columns  of  the  larger  trees,  will  long  be 
remembered  as  a  sweet  midsummer  night's  dream. 

But  we  must  now  pass  with  only  a  word  of  greeting  "  Diana's 
Baths,"  which  also  belong  to  the  resources  of  the  visit  to  "  The 
Cathedral," — the  valley  views  offered  from  the  ride  on  the  Dundee 
road, — the  excursion  to  Jackson  with  the  cascade  pictures  on  a 
branch  of  the  Ellis  River — the  wild  glen  to  be  found  in  the  drive 
to  Sligo — the  triple  cascades  of  Wildwood  Brook,  not  long  since 
discovered — the  glorious  excursion  to  Fryeburg,  with  the  views 
gained  of  Jockey  Cap,  and  the  Saco  intervales  of  that  village,  and 
Lovell's  Pond  which  has  the  distinction  of  being  more  deeply  dyed 
with  tradition  than  any  other  sheet  of  water  in  New  England. 
Gould's  Pond  and  the  ride  to  Chocorua  Lake  we  have  spoken  of  in 
a  former  chapter. 

The  "  Artist's  Brook  "  in  the  village  itself  is  the  only  feature  of 
the  scenery  that  we  can  delay  with  now.  Its  true  celebration  is  to 
be  found  in  the  artists'  studios,  or  in  the  galleries,  for  Avhich  it  has 
furnished  exquisite  tangles  of  foliage  and  light ;  rough  boulders 
around  whose  clinging  mosses  the  water  sfips  with  a  flash  that  can  be 
painted  but  with  a  voice  that  cannot  be  entrapped ;  curves  through 
diminutive  glens,  half  in  shadow  and  sprinkled  on  the  other  side  with 
light  through  fluttering  birch  leaves,  or  an  over-hanging  beech  with 
marbled  stem,  such  as  Kensett  loves  to  paint ;  and  more  open  pas- 
sages, where  the  Avater  brawls,  and  the  thinner  trees  of  the  sides  show 
the  bulk  of  distant  Washington.  Sitting  down  on  the  meadow  where 
the  brook  loiters  over  its  sandy  bed,  and  sometimes  stops  to  cool 
itself  in  the  green  shadow  of  an  elm  before  it  moves  on  to  join  the 


170 


TOE    WHTTE    HILLS. 


Saco  near  at  hand,  does  it  not  sing  essentially  the  same  song  to  us 
that  the  brook  did  which  Tennyson  has  thus  translated  ? 


I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hem 

I  make  a  sudden  sally 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker  down  a  valley 

By  thirsty  hills  I  hurry  down, 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges, 
By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town. 
(iAnd  half  a  hundred  bridsfes. 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  171 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever. 


I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 
In  little  sharps  and  trebles 

I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow. 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go 
But  I  go  on  forever. 


I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out. 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing. 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  mc,  as  I  travel. 
With  many  a  silveiy  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel. 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go 
But  I  go  on  forever. 


I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 
I  slide  by  hazel  covers; 

I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nota 
That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallowo 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 


172  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

1  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars, 

1  ''^itsr  round  my  cresses; 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

A  sonnet  of  Wordsworth's  also,  written  evidently  in  praise  of  some 
English  stream,  that  in  quality  and  character  is  cousin  to  this  gem  of 
North  Conway,  ought  to  be  quoted  here. 

Brook!  whose  society  the  Poet  seeks, 
Intent  his  wasted  si)irits  to  renew; 
And  whom  the  curious  Painter  doth  pursue 
Through  rocky  passes,  among  flowery  creeks, 
And  tracks  thee  dancing  down  thy  waterbreaks; 
If  wish  were  mine  some  type  of  thee  to  view, 
Thee,  and  not  thee  thyself,  I  would  not  do 
Like  Grecian  Artists,  give  thee  human  cheeks, 
Channels  for  tears;  no  Naiad  shouldst  thou  be, — 
Have  neither  limbs,  feet,  feathers,  joints,  nor  hairs; 
It  seems  the  Eternal  Soul  is  clothed  in  thee 
With  purer  robes  than  those  of  flesh  and  blood, 
And  hath  bestowed  on  thee  a  better  good; 
Unwearied  joy,  and  life  without  its  cares. 

We  have  already  said  that  the  dreaminess  which  pervades  the  air 
and  hangs  around  the  walls  of  North  Conway,  rests  upon  the  slopes 
of  Kiarsarge  and  veils  the  roughness  and  barrenness  of  its  acclivi- 
ties. Seen  through  the  haze  of  a  genial  afternoon  it  seems  as  though 
it  would  be  pastime  to  mount  its  cone,  carpeted  then  to  the  eye  Avith 
a  plushy  depth  and  indistinctness  of  mellow  and  cross-lighted  air. 
One  cannot  see  then  how  he  could  require  more  than  half  an  hour  to 
gain  its  summit  from  the  base,  although  it  stands  twenty-seven  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  valley.  Many  persons  have  been  tempted  by 
this  illusion  to  ascend  on  foot,  and  have  thus  been  brought  to  a  perma- 
nent conviction  that  a  mountain  is  something  very  different  in  genus 
from  a  hill. 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  173 

Do  not  some  of  our  readers  recall  the  fascination  of  the  diorama 
exhibited  to  those  whom  Kiarsarge  allows  to  pass  above  its  elegant 
shoulders  ?  Do  they  not  call  to  mind  the  mob  of  mountains  that 
first  storms  the  sight  from  the  north  and  west,,  as  though  Mount 
Washington  had  given  a  party,  and  all  the  hills  were  •  hurrying  up  to 
answer  the  invitation  ?  Can  they  not  see  again  with  the  mind's  eye 
the  different  effacts  of  color  and  shadow  upon  the  lines  of  hills, 
according  to  their  distance,  height,  and  the  position  of  the  sun,  and 
how  they  soon  group  themselves  in  relation  to  the  two  great  centres — 
the  notched  summit  of  Lafayette  and  the  noble  dome  of  Washington  ? 
Do  they  not  recall  the  soothing  contrast  to  these  shaggy  surges  of  the 
land  in  the  far  stretching  open  country  of  the  south,  gemmed  with 
lakes  and  ponds,  brilliant  with  cultivation,  sweeping  out  like  a  vast 
and  many  colored  sea  to 

the  grim  gray  rounding 
Of  this  bullet  of  the  earth 
On  which  we  sail, 

over  which,  far  to  the  southwest,  the  filmy  outline  of  Monadnoc 
gleams  like  a  sail  just  fading  out  upon  a  vaster  sea  ?  Did  they 
ascend  for  the  purpose  of  passing  the  night  in  the  house  that  is 
clamped  to  the  rocks  of  the  sharp  summit,  and  can  they  not  call  up 
the  picture  of  the  glorious  purple  light,  dyed  into  the  hills  behind 
them  by  the  level  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  ?  Can  they  not  repeat  by 
recollection  the  contrast  of  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  highest  ranges 
with  a  heaven  of  molten  gold, 

with  light  and  heat  intensely  glowing, 
While,  to  the  middle  height  of  the  pure  ether. 
One  deepening  sapphire  from  the  amber  spread? 

Or  was  the  evening  so  clear  that  the  shadow  of  Kiarsarge  itself 
stretched  slowly  towards  Portland,  and  faded  out  when  the  point  of 
its  unsubstantial  triangle  had  climbed  half  up  the  slope  of  Pleasant 
Mountain  in  Maine  ?  Or  was  it  the  cloud  scenery  of  sunset  that  was 
the  prominent  splendor  of  the  spectacle,  and  did 


174  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

*  masses  of  crimson  glory, 

Pale  lakes  of  blue,  studded  with  fiery  islands, 
Bright  golden  bars,  cold  peaks  of  slaty  rock. 
Mountains  of  fused  amethyst  and  copper, 
Fierce  flaming  eyes,  with  black  o'erhanging  brows, 
Light  floating  curls  of  brown  or  golden  hair. 
And  rosy  flushes,  like  warm  dreams  of  love 
Make  rich  and  wonderful  the  failing  day, 
That,  like  a  wounded  dolphin,  on  the  shore 
Of  night's  black  waves,  died  in  a  thousand  glories  ? 

Perhaps  they  saw  the  full  moon  rise  after  the  flames  of  sunset  had 
faded.  Perhaps  they  recollect  how  slowly  its  red  and  swollen  disc 
loomed  up  the  East  through  the  thick  vapors,  and  then,  as  soon  as  its 
light  became  clear,  left  a  streak  of  silver  on  the  horizon  which  must 
have  been  a  strip  of  the  ocean.  And  they  renew  in  memory  the 
delight  it  gave  them  to  watch  those  gentle  beams  leap  down  from 
mountahi  tops  into  the  vales,  and  waken  by  successive  flashes  the 
sleeping  lakes  that  gem  the  vicinity  of  Kiarsarge.  Or,  if  the  moon- 
hght  did  not  give  this  picture  of  a  new-created  world,  they  may 
remember  how,  after  sunset,  the  poet's  picture  was  interpreted  to 
them  :  — 

Repentant  day 
Frees  with  his  dying  hand  the  pallid  stars 
He  held  imprisoned  since  his  young,  hot  dawn. 
Now  watch  with  what  a  silent  step  of  fear 
They'll  steal  out  one  by  one,  and  overspread 
The  cool  delicious  meadows  of  the  night. 
And  lo,  the  first  one  flutters  in  the  blue 
With  a  quick  sense  of  liberty  and  joy ! 

And  then  the  sunrise  repeated  the  effects  of  light  and  gloom, — the 
purple  on  the  hills,  the  gigantic  shadows,  the  conflict  between  the 
radiance  on  the  summits  and  the  dusk  in  the  valleys,  which  the  pre- 
vious evening  had  shown.  And  again  the  clearly  defined  outline  of 
Kiarsarge,  they  will  remember,  lay  before  them — but  on  the  hills  at 
the  west  now — sharper  than  when  the  sunset  created  it,  and  slowly 
shrunk  towards  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 

And  if  these  visions  have  been  seen,  as  a  human  being  should  see 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  175 

them,  they  have  become  staple  of  -wisdom"  and  a  well  of  joy.  They 
describe  almost  the  full  circle  of  the  privilege  amid  which  the  senses 
are  set  If  the  spectacles  could  be  shown  as  miracles,  the  first  cre- 
ations of  the  spirit  that  quickeneth  all  things,  what  wonder  and  rapture 
would  respond  to  them !  Are  they  of  less  meaning  and  Avorth  because 
they  are  visions  that  have  been  renewed  and  varied  perpetually  for 
ages  by  th§  indwelHng  Life  ? 

Aliis!  thine  is  the  bankruptcy 
Blessed  Nature  so  to  see. 


Ever  fresh  the  broad  creation, 
A  divine  improvisation, 
From  tlie  heart  of  God  proceeds, 
A  single  will,  a  million  deeds. 


North  Conway,  as  we  have  said  in  a  former  chapter,  lies  at  the 
proper  distance  from  the  hills  that  inclose  it,  and  from  the  Mount 
Washington  range,  to  command  various  and  rich  landscape  effects. 
And  this  no  doubt  is  the  gr^at  charm  of  the  place  to  scores  of  those 
that  pass  several  weeks  of  the  summer  in  the  village,  who  perhaps 
could  not  explain  to  themselves  the  secret  of  their  fascination.  A 
great  many  persons  think  of  mountain  scenery  as  monotonous.  If 
you  live  directly  under  a  savage  mountain  wall,  like  one  side  of  the 
Notch,  it  may  be.  If  you  stay  a  few  miles  off  from  a  great  range  in 
full  view,  nothing  can  be  less  monotonous. 

"  When  the  lofty  and  barren  mountain,"  says  a  legend  I  have 
somewhere  read,  "  was  first  upheaved  into  the  sky,  and  from  its  ele- 
vation looked  down  on  the  plains  beloAV,  and  saw  the  valley  and  the 
less  elevated  hills  covered  with  verdant  and  fruitful  trees,  it  sent  up 
to  Brahma  something  like  a  murmur  of  complaint, — '  Why  thus  bar- 
ren ?  why  these  scarred  and  naked  sides  exposed  to  the  eye  of  man  ?  ' 
And  Brahma  answered,  '  The  very  light  shall  clothe  thee,  and  the 
shadow  of  the  passing  cloud  shall  be  as  a  royal  mantle.  More  ver- 
dure would  he  less  light.  Thou  shalt  share  in  the  azure  of  heaven, 
and  the  youngest  and  whitest  cloud  of  a  summer's  sky  shall  nestle  ui 
tliy  bosom.     Thou  belongest  half  to  us.' 


176  THE   WHITE   HILLS.    " 

"  So  was  the  mountain  dowered.  And  so  too,"  adds  the  legend, 
"  have  the  loftiest  minds  of  men  been  in  all  ages  dowered.  To  lower 
elevations  have  been  given  the  pleasant  verdure,  the  vine,  and  the 
olive.  Light,  light  alone, — and  the  deep  shadow  of  the  passing 
cloud, — these  are  the  gifts  of  the  prophets  of  the  race." 

The  glory  of  the  mountains  is  color.  A  great  many  people  thmk 
that  they  see  all  that  there  is  to  be  seen  of  the  White  Hills  in 
one  visit.  Have  they  not  been  driven  from  Conway  to  the  Notch", 
and  did  they  not  have  an  outside  seat  on  the  stage  on  a  clear  day  ? 
Have  they  not  seen  the  Glen  when  there  were  no  clouds,  and 
ascended  Mount  Washington,  and  devoted  a  day  and  a  half  to  Fran- 
conia,  and  crossed  Winnipiseogee  on  their  way  home  ?  At  any  rate, 
if  they  have  staid  a  week  in  one  spot,  they  cannot  understand  why 
they  may  not  be  said  to  have  exhausted  it ;  and  if  they  have  passed 
one  whole  season  in  a  valley,  it  might  seem  to  them  folly  to  go  to  the 
same  spot  the  next  year. 

But  how  is  it  in  regard  to  a  great  gallery  abroad  ?  Is  a  man  of 
true  taste  satisfied  with  going  once  to  see  a  Claude,  to  see  the  color- 
ing of  a  Titian,  the  expression  of  a  Madonna,  the  sublime  torso  of 
Hercules,  or  the  knotted  muscles  of  the  Laocoon  ?  Is  one  visit 
enough  to  satisfy  a  man  of  taste  with  a  collection  that  has  three  or 
foiu*  first-rate  pictures,  each  by  a  Church,  a  Durand,  a  Bierstadt,  a 
Gignoux  ? 

But  what  if  you  could  go  into  a  gallery  where  the  various  sculp- 
ture took  different  attitudes  every  day  ?  where  a  Claude  or  a  Turner 
was  present  and  changed  the  sunsets  on  his  canvas,  shifted  the  dra- 
peries of  raist  and  shadow,  combined  clouds  and  meadows  and  ridges 
in  ever-varying  beauty,  and  wiped  them  all  out  at  night  ?  or  where 
Kensett,  Coleman,  Champney,  Gay,  Church,  Durand,  Wheelock, 
were  continually  busy  in  copying  from  new  conceptions  the  freshness 
of  morning  and  the  pomp  of  evening  light  upon  the  hills,  the  count- 
less passages  and  combinations  of  the  clouds,  the  laughs  and  glooms 
of  the  brooks,  the  innumerable  expressions  that  flit  over  the  meadows, 
the  various  vestures  of  shadow,  light,  and  hue,  in  which  they  have 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  177 

seeu  the  stalwart  hills  enrobed  ?  Would  one  visit  then  enable  a  man 
to  say  that  he  had  seen  the  gallery  ?  Would  one  season  be  sufficient 
to  drain  the  interest  of  it  ?  Thus  the  mountains  are  ever  changing. 
They  are  never  two  days  the  same.  The  varying  airs  of  summer, 
the  angles  at  which,  in  different  summer  months,  the  light  strikes 
them,  give  different  general  character  to  the  landscapes  which  they 
govern.  And  then  when  we  tliink  of  the  perpetual  frolic  of  the 
sun  hlaze  and  the  shadow  upon  them,  never  twice  alike  ;  the  brilliant 
scarfs  into  which  the  mists  that  stripe  or  entwine  them  are  changed ; 
the  vivid  splendors  that  often  flame  upon  them  at  evening. 

Like  the  torrents  of  the  sun 
Up  the  horizon  walls; 

the  rich,  deep,  but  more  vague  and  modest  hues,  which  we  try  in 
vain  to  bring  under  definition,  that  glow  upon  them  in  different  airs ; 
and  the  evanescent  tints  that  touch  them  only  now  and  then  in  a  long 
season,  as  though  they  were  something  too  rare  and  pure  to  be  shown 
for  more  than  a  moment  to  dwellers  of  the  earth,  and  then  only  as  a 
hint  of  what  may  be  displayed  in  diviner  climes, — we  see  that  it  is  the 
landscape-eye  alone,  and  the  desire  to  cultivate  it,  wliich  is  needed  to 
make  the  mountains,  from  any  favorable  district  such  as  North  Con- 
way, an  undrainable  resource  and  joy. 

Those  who  seek  a  sort  of  melodramatic  astonishment  by  the  height 
of  their  peaks  and  the  gloomy  menace  of  sheer  and  desolate  walls, 
will  be  disappointed  at  first,  and  will  not  find  that  the  mountains 
"  grow  upon  them."  But  it  is  not  so  with  color.  That  is  a  per- 
petual surprise.  The  glory  of  that,  even  upon  the  New  Hampshire 
momitains,  cannot  be  exaggerated.  They  should  be  sought  for  their 
pomp,  far  more  than  for  their  configuration. 

"  The  fact  is,"  says  Mr.  Ruskin,  "  we  none  of  us  enough  appre- 
ciate the  nobleness  and  sacredness  of  color.  Nothing;  is  more  com- 
mon  than  to  hear  it  spoken  of  as  a  subordinate  beauty, — nay,  even  as 
the  mere  source  of  a  sensual  pleasure  ;  and  we  might  almost  believe 
that  we  were  daily  among  men  who 


178  ^IIE    WHITE    HILLS. 

Could  strip,  for  aught  the  prospect  yields 
To  them,  their  verdure  from  the  fields; 
And  take  the  radi.incc  from  the  clouds 
With  which  the  suu  his  setting  shrouds. 


But  it  is  not  so.  Such  expressions  are  used  for  the  most  part  in 
thoughtlessness  ;  and  if  the  speakers  would  onlj  take  the  pains  to 
imagine  what  the  world  and  their  own  existence  would  become  if  the 
blue  were  taken  from  the  sky,  and  the  gold  from  the  sunshine,  and 
the  verdure  from  the  leaves,  and  the  crimson  from  the  blood  which  is 
the  life  of  man,  the  flush  from  the  cheek,  the  darkness  from  the  eye, 
the  radiance  from  the  hair, — if  they  could  but  see,  for  an  instant, 
white  human  creatures  living  in  a  Avhite  world, — they  would  soon  feel 
what  they  owe  to  color.  The  fact  is,  that  of  all  God's  gifts  to  the 
sight  of  man,  color  is  the  holiest,  the  most  divine,  the  most  solemn. 
We  speak  rashly  of  gay  color  and  sad  color,  for  color  cannot  at  once 
be  good  and  gay.  All  good  color  is  in  some  degree  pensive,  the 
loveliest  is  melancholy,  and  the  purest  and  most  thoughtful  minds  are 
those  which  love  color  the  most. 

"J  know  that  this  will  sound  strange  in  many  ears,  and  will  be 
especially  startling  to  those  who  have  considered  the  subject  chiefly 
with  reference  to  .painting  ;  for  the  great  Venetian  schools  of  color 
are  not  usually  understood  to  be  either  pure  or  pensive,  and  the  idea 
of  its  preeminence  is  associated  in  nearly  every  mind  with  the  coarse- 
ness of  Rubens,  and  the  sensualities  of  Correggio  and  Titian.  But  a 
more  comprehensive  view  of  art  will  soon  correct  this  impression.  It 
will  be  discovered,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  more  faithful  and  ear- 
nest the  religion  of  the  painter,  the  more  pure  and  prevalent  is  the 
system  of  his  color.  It  will  be  found  in  the  second  place,  that  where 
color  becomes  a  primal  intention  with  a  painter  otherwise  mean  or 
sensual,  it  instantly  elevates  him,  and  becomes  the  one  sacred  and 
saving  element  in  his  work.  The  very  depth  of  the  stoop  to  which 
the  Venetian  painters  and  Rubens  sometimes  condescend,  is  a  conse- 
quence of  their  feeling  confidence  in  the  power  of  their  color  to  keep 
them  from  falling.     They  hold  on  by  it,  as  by  a  chain  let  down  fi-ora 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  179 

heaven,  with  one  hand,  though  they  may  sometimes  seem  to  gather 
dust  and  ashes  with  the  other.  And,  in  the  last  place,  it  will  be 
found  that  so  surely  as  a  painter  is  irreligious,  thoughtless,  or  obscene 
in  disposition,  so  surely  is  his  coloring  cold,  gloomy,  and  valueless. 
The  opposite  poles  of  art  in  this  respect  are  Fra  Angelico  and  Salva- 
tor  Rosa  ;  of  whom  the  one  was  a  man  Avho  smiled  seldom,  wept 
often,  prayed  constantly,  and  never  harbored  an  impure  thought. 
His  pictures  are  simply  so  many  pieces  of  jewelry,  the  colors  of  the 
draperies  being  perfectly  pure,  as  various  as  those  of  a  painted  win- 
dow, chastened  only  by  paleness,  and  relieved  upon  a  gold  ground. 
Salvator  was  a  dissipated  jester  and  satirist,  a  man  who  spent  his 
life  in  masking  and  revelry.  But  his  pictures  are  full  of  horror, 
and  their  color  is  for  the  most  part  gloomy-gray.  Truly,  it  would 
seem  as  if  art  had  so  much  of  eternity  in  it,  that  it  must  take  its  dye 
from  the  close  rather  than  the  course  of  life.  '  In  such  laughter  the 
heart  of  man  is  sorrowful,  and  the  end  of  that  mirth  is  heaviness.' 

"  These  are  no  singular  instances.  I  know  no  law  more  severely 
without  exception  than  this  of  the  connection  of  pure  color  with  pro- 
found and  noble  thought.  The  late  Flemish  pictures,  shallow  in  con- 
ception and  obscure  in  subject,  are  always  sombre  in  color.  But  the 
early  religious  painting  of  the  Flemings  is  as  brilliant  in  hue  as  it  is 
holy  in  thought.  The  Belhnis,  Francias,  Peruginos  painted  in  crim- 
son, and  blue,  and  gold.  The  Caraccis,  Guidos,  and  Rembrandts,  in 
brown  and  gray.  The  builders  of  our  great  cathedrals  veiled  their 
casements,  and  wrapped  their  pillars  with  one  robe  of  purple  splen- 
dor. The  builders  of  the  luxurious  Renaissance  left  their  palaces 
filled  only  with  cold,  white  light,  and  in  the  paleness  of  their  native 
stone." 

The  inexperienced  eye  has  no  conception  of  the  affluent  delight 
that  is  kindled  by  the  opulence  of  pure  and  tender  colors  on  the 
mountains.  A  ramble  by  the  banks  of  the  Saco  in  North  Conway, 
or  along  the  Androscoggin  below  Gorham,  will  often  yield  from  this 
cause  what  w^e   may  soberly  call  rapture  of  vision.     A  great  many 


180  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

persons,  in  looking  xround  from  Artist's  Hill,  would  say  at  first  that 
green  and  blue  and  white  and  gray,  in  the  foliage,  the  grass,  the  sky, 
the  clouds,  and  the  mountains,  were  the  only  colors  to  be  noticed, 
and  these  in  wide,  severely  contrasted  masses.  We  should  go  en- 
tirely beyond  their  appreciation  in  speaking  of  the  light  brown  and 
ohve  plateaus  rising  from  the  wide  flats  of  meadow  green,  the  richer 
and  more  subtle  hues  on  the  darker  belt  of  lower  hills,  the  sheeny 
spaces  of  pure  sunshine  upon  smooth  slopes  or  level  sward,  the  glim- 
mer of  pearly  radiance  upon  pools  of  aerial  sapphire  brought  from  the 
distant  mountains  in  the  wandering  Saco,  the  blue  and  white  misti- 
ness from  clouds  and  distant  air  gleaming  in  the  chasms  of  brooks 
fresh  from  the  cool  top  of  Kiarsarge,  and  the  gold  or  silver  glances 
of  light  upon  knolls  or  smooth  boulders  scattered  here  and  there  upon 
the  irregular  and  tawny  ground,  and  upon  the  house-roofs  beyond. 
Yet  let  a  man  who  thinks  these  particukirs  are  imaginary  hold  his 
head  down,  and  thus  reverse  his  eyes,  and  then  say  whether  the  deli- 
cacy and  variety  of  hues  are  exaggerated  in  such  a  statement.  There 
are  those  Avho  have  such  perception  of  colors  ^vith  their  eyes  upright. 
And  they  will  know  that  the  tints  just  noted  are  only  hints  of  a  great 
color-symphony  to  be  wrought  out  upon  the  Avide  landscape.  They 
know  how  the  rich  or  sombre  passages  of  shade,  and  the  olive  strips  and 
slaty  breadths  of  darkness  will  be  transformed  in  some  glorious  after- 
noon, when  the  landscape  assumes  its  full  pomp,  into  masses  of  more 
etherial  gloom,  and  made  magnificent  by  the  intermixture  of  gorgeous 
tones  of  purples,  emeralds  and  russets  with  cloudy  azure  and  sub- 
tle gray  along  the  second  part  of  the  mountain  outworks.  They 
know  how  those  flecks  of  pearl  and  sapphire  upon  the  meadow  will 
mingle  and  spread  with  shifting  azure  and  amethyst  upon  the  lower 
parts  of  the  great  mountains  ;  and  how  the  spaces  of  sunshine,  tho 
blue  and  white  mistiness,  and  the  golden  and  silver  glances  of  light, 
will  assume  new  beauty  and  larger  proportions  amid  the  gleaming  hues 
of  the  looming  azure  ridge,  the  waving  gray  and  purple  of  cloud-en- 
wrapped peak,  the  tender  flashes  of  changeful  light  and  tint  in  sky 
and  cloud,  and  the  tremulous  violet  and  aerial  orange  of  the  mj^ste 


THE  6AC0    VALLEY.  181 

nous  ravines,  with  their  Avondrous  sloping  arras,  on  whose  striped 
folds,  inwrought  with  gold  and  silver  upon  pale  emerald  ground,  ai'e, 
one  might  think,  the  mystical  signs  of  .some  weird  powers  that  work 
from  within  the  earth. 

But  those  who  cannot  detect  this  range  and  harmony  of  hues  upon 
a  complicated  landscape  like  that  seen  from  Artist's  Hill,  have  no 
doubt  noticed  and  enjoyed  the  simpler  and  stronger  contrasts  revealed 
upon  one  or  two  features  of  such  a  scene.  They  have  watched,  per- 
haps, the  shadow  of  a  wandering  cloud  thrown  over  a  towering  moun- 
tain a  few  miles  off,  and  covering  it  with  a  dusk  that  conceals  all  its 
variety  of  form,  as  if  a  purple  m.antle  had  been  suddenly  cast  upon 
it ;  and  they  remember  how  splendidly  it  made  the  sparkling  gladness 
of  the  waters  contrast  with  its  undisturbed  breadth  of  gloom.  They 
have  rejoiced,  when  the  shadow  passed,  in  seeing  the  soft,  cloudy  blue 
show  here  and  there  flakes  and  lines  of  tender  green  and  russet  and 
pale  orange,  that  just  hint  peaks  and  ridges,  which  in  another  change 
of  light  may  fill  the  mountain  surface  Avith  many  purple  tents  tipped 
and  edged  with  gold.  They  know  how  grand  is  the  effect  upon  the 
mountains,  when  there  are  only  a  few  broken  lines  of  dim  light  near 
their  tops  to  show  the  depth  of  the  shade  that  drapes  them — as  though 
they  were  themselves  darker  shadows  of  soaring  earth  transformed  to 
cloud  !  Or  possibly  their  memory  reports  to  them  how,  in  the  rich 
light  of  evening,  a  great  pyramid  will  stand  up,  as  we  have  sometimes 
seen  the  charming  Mount  Madison,  draped  in  a  gorgeous  tunic  Avhose 
wai'p  seemed  to  be  aerial  sapphire  overshot  with  threads  of  gold. 
And  they  can  understand  that  the  visitor  is  still  more  fortunate  who 
has  an  evening  provided  for  him  when  the  hght  is  clear,  but  inter- 
rupted by  struggling  masses  of  bright  cumuli.  Ah,  how  the  light 
breaking  through  the  shifting  openings  brings  out  a  continual  succes- 
sion of  scenic  effects !  The  clouds  break  and  pass,  and  the  sunshine 
and  shadows  ever  changing  place,  reveal,  each  instant,  along  the 
mountain  sides,  new  wonders  of  soaring  ridge,  jutting  crags  delicately 
veined,  and  rounded   slopes   declining   to   pale    depths  of  Avinding 

26 


182  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

ravines,  doAvn  whose  shadowed  sides  crinkle  the  narrow,  silvery  Unea 
of  the  landshdes,  like  faint  lightning  in  far-off  clouds.  The  next  in- 
stant, perhaps,  the  clouds,  closing  together,  leave  a  monotonous 
breadth  of  purple  darkness  over  all.  And  then,  drifting  irregularly 
apart,  they  open  the  opportunity  for  a  sunbeam  to  slip  through  upon 
the  broad  fields  of  cold  shadow.  And  like  a  brand  of  white  flame,  it 
hastens  to  kindle  a  running  fire  which  consumes  the  darkness,  mantles 
over  the  sloping  terraces  and  flashing  pinnacles,  and  leaves  a  magnifi- 
cent symbol  of  the  "  Allegro  "  of  Milton,  where  a  moment  before 
"  II  Penseroso  "  was  suggested  by  the  stately  gloom. 

The  spectacles  that,  in  some  rare  week  of  summer,  are  sho^vn  Avith- 
in  the  compass  of  a  score  of  hours  in  one  of  the  White  Mountain 
valleys,  interpret  for  us  the  passage  of  our  great  poet :  "  Hoav  does 
Nature  deify  us  with  a  fcAv  and  cheap  elements  !  Give  me  health 
and  a  day,  and  I  will  make  the  pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous.  The 
dawn  is  my  Assyria  ;  the  sunset  and  moon-rise  my  Paphos,  and 
unimaginable  realms  of  faerie  ;  broad  noon  shall  be  my  England  of 
the  senses  and  the  understanding ;  the  night  shall  be  my  Germany 
of  mystic  philosophy  and  dreams."  And  we  cannot  better  close  these 
pages  on  the  privilege  of  sight  in  a  village  like  North  Conway  than 
with  another  charming  passage  by  Mr.  Emerson  which  he  kindly  con 
sented  to  extract  for  us  from  a  manuscript  lecture.  "  The  world  is 
not  made  up  to  the  eye  of  figures, — that  is  only  half ;  it  is  also  made 
of  color.  How  that  mysterious  element  washes  the  universe  with  its 
enchanting  waves  !  The  sculptor  had  ended  his  work, — and  behold ! 
a  new  world  of  dream-like  glory.  This  is  the  last  stroke  of  nature ; — 
beyond  color  wo  cannot  go.  In  like  manner,  life  is  made  up  not  of 
knowledge  only,  but  of  love  also.  If  thought  is  form,  sentiment  is 
color.  It  clothes  the  poor  skeleton  world  with  space,  variety,  and 
glow.  The  hues  of  sunset  make  life  great  and  romantic  to  a  wretch  ; 
so  the  affections  make  some  pretty  web  of  cottage  and  fireside  details 
bright,  populous,  important,  and  claiming  the  high  place  in  out 
history." 


THE    6ACO    VALLEY. 


183 


!")'% 


\ 

)       ■^.    \ 


a^rPl. 


In  Scotland,  a  highland  pass,  so  wild  and  romantic  as  that  from 
CFpper  Bartlett  to   the   Crawford   House,  would   be   overhung  with 


184  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

traditions  along  the  whole  winding  wall  of  its  wilderness  ;  and  legends 
that  had  been  enshrined  in  song  and  ballad  would  be  as  plentiful  as 
the  streams  that  leap  singing  towards  the  Saco,  down  their  rocky 
Btairs.  But  no  hill,  no  sheer  battlement,  no  torrent  that  ploughs  and 
drains  the  barriers  of  this  narrow  and  tortuous  glen,  suggests  any 
Indian  legend.  One  cascade,  howev^er,  about  half  a  mile  from  the 
former  residence  of  old  Abel  Crawford,  is  more  honored  by  the  sad 
story  associated  with  it,  than  by  the  picturesqueness  of  the  crags 
throush  which  it  hurries  for  the  last  mile  or  two  of  its  descendino; 
course.  It  is  called  "  Nancy's  Brook ; "  and  the  stage-drivers  show 
to  the  passengers  the  stone  which  is  the  particular  monument  of  the 
tragedy,  bearing  the  name  "  Nancy's  Rock." 

Here,  late  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1778,  a  poor  girl,  who  lived 
mth  a  family  in  Jefferson,  Avas  found  frozen  to  death.  She  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  a  man  who  was  employed  m  the  same 
family  Avhere  she  served.  She  had  intrusted  to  him  all  her  earnings, 
and  the  understanding  was,  that  in  a  few  days  they  should  leave  for 
Portsmouth,  to  be  married  there.  But  during  her  temporary  absence 
in  Lancaster,  nine  miles  from  Jefferson,  the  man  started  Avith  his 
employer  for  Portsmouth,  Avithout  leaving  any  explanatii)n  or  message 
for  her.  She  learned  the  fact  of  her  desertion  on  the  same  day  that 
her  lover  departed.  .At  once  she  Avalked  back  to  Jefferson,  tied  up  a 
small  bundle  of  clothing,  and  in  spite  of  all  warnings  and  entreaties, 
set  out  on  foot  to  overtake  the  faithless  fugitive.  Snow  had  already 
fallen  ;  it  Avas  nearly  night ;  the  distance  to  the  first  settlement  near 
the  Notch  Avas  thirty  miles  ;  and  there  Avas  no  road  through  the  Avil- 
derness  but  a  hunter's  path  marked  by  spotted  trees.  She  pressed 
on  through  the  night,  as  the  story  runs,  against  a  snoAV-storm  and  a 
northAvest  Avind,  in  the  hope  of  overtaking  her  lover  at  the  camp  in 
the  Notch,  before  the  party  should  start  in  the  morning.  She 
reached  it  soon  after  they  had  left,  and  found  the  ashes  of  the  camp- 
fire  Avarm. 

It  Avas  plain  to  those,  avIio,  alarmed  for  her  safety,  had  followed  on 
from  Jefferson  to  overtake  her,  that  she  had  tried  in  vain  to  rekindle 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  185 

the  fire  in  the  lonely  camp.  But  the  fire  in  her  heart  did  not  falter, 
and  she  still  moved  on,  wet,  cold,  and  hungry,  with  resolution  uncon- 
quered  by  the  thirty  miles'  tramp  through  the  wilderness,  on  the 
bitter  autumn  night.  She  climbed  the  wild  pass  of  the  Notch  which 
only  one  woman  had  scaled  before — for  it  was  then  a  matter  of  great 
difficulty  to  clamber  over  the  steep,  rough  rocks — and  followed  the 
track  of  the  Saco  towards  Conway.  Several  miles  of  the  roughest  part 
of  the  way  she  travelled  thus,  often  fording  the  river.  But  her  strength 
was  spent  by  two  or  three  hours  of  such  toil ;  and  she  was  found  by 
the  party  in  pursuit  of  her,  chilled  and  stiff  in  the  snow,  with  her  head 
resting  upon  her  staif,  at  the  foot  of  an  aged  tree  near  "  Nancy's 
Bridge,"  not  many  hours  after  she  had  ceased  to  breathe.  When 
the  lover  of  the  unliappy  girl  heard  the  story  of  her  faithfulness,  her 
Buffering,  and  her  dreadful  death,  he  became  insane ;  and,  after  a 
few  weeks,  as  one  account  informs  us,  after  a  few  years,  as  another 
states  it,  died,  a  raving  mftdman.  And  there  are  those  who  believe 
that  often  in  still  nights  the  valley  walls  near  Mount  Crawford  echo 
tlie  shrieks  and  groans  of  the  restless  ghost  of  Nancy's  lover. 


THE   NOTCH. 


Beware  the  pine-tree's  withered  branch! 
Beware  the  awful  avalanche! 


The  leaves  are  falling,  falling, 

Solemnly  and  slow; 
Caw !  caw !  the  rooks  are  calling, 

It  is  a  sound  of  woe, 
A  sound  of  woe ! 

Through  woods  and  mountain  passes 
The  wind«,  like  anthems,  roll; 

They  are  chanting  solemn  masses, 
Singing:  "Fray  for  this  poor  soul. 
Pray, — pray!  " 


186  THE   WHITE    lilLLb. 

And  the  hooded  clouds,  like  friars, 

Tell  their  beads  in  drops  of  rain, 
And  patter  their  doleful  prayers; — 

But  their  prayers  are  all  in  vain, 
All  in  vain  I 

In  North  Conwaj  we  were  surrounded  by  mountain  splendor,  cheery 
and  peace  ;  the  gradually  darkening  pass  through  Bartlett,  and  the 
pathos  of  the  story  murmured  by  Nancy's  Brook,  prepare  us  for  the 
impression  of  mountain  wrath  and  ravage  when  we  reach  those  awful 
mountain  walls  Avhose  jaws,  as  we  enter  them,  seem  ready  to  close 
together  upon  the  little  Willey  House,  the  monument  of  the  great 
disaster  of  the  White  Hills. 

There  is  no  Indian  tradition  connected  with  the  Notch.  We 
have  no  record  that  any  Indians  ever  saw  it.  It  was  discovered  in 
1772  by  a  hunter  named  Nash,  Avho  had  climbed  a  tree  on  Cherry 
Mountain.  The  farmers  of  Jefferson  and  Bethlehem  were  very  glad 
to  learn  that  there  was  a  prospect  of  a  more  direct  and  speedy 
communication  -vvith  the  towns  below,  and  with  Portsmouth,  than  by 
winding  around  the  easterly  base  of  the  great  range.  But  the  early 
experiments  of  passing  through  the  Notch  to  reach  the  lowlands 
seemed  to  cost  in  toil  and  peril  more  than  an  etjuivalent  for  the  gain 
in  time. 

Huge  ten-aces  of  granite  black 
Afforded  rude  and  cumber'd  track ; 
For  from  the  mountain  hoar, 
Hurl'd  headlong  in  some  night  of  fear. 
When  yeird  the  wolf  and  fled  the  deer, 
Loose  crags  had  toppled  o'er. 


For  all  is  rocks  at  random  thrown, 

Black  waves,  bare  crags,  and  banks  of  stone. 

As  if  were  here  denied 

The  summer  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew. 

That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

The  bleakest  mountain-side. 


Horses  were  pulled  up  the  narrowest  and  most  jagged  portion  of 
the  Notch  between  Mount  Webster  and  Mount  Willard,  and  let 
doAA-n  again  by  ropes.     And  the  primitive  method  of  transportmg  any 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  187 

commodities  was  to  cut  two  poles  some  fifteen  feet  in  length,  nail  a 
couple  of  bars  across  the  middle,  on  which  a  bag  or  barrel  could  be 
fastened,  then  harness  the  horse  into  the  smaller  ends  which  served 
as  thills,  and  let  the  larger  ends,  which  had  no  wheels  under  them, 
drag  on  the  ground.  The  first  article  of  commerce  that  was  carried 
in  this  way  from  the  sea-shore,  through  the  solemn  walls  and  over 
the  splintered  outlet  of  the  Notch,  was  a  barrel  of  rum.  It  was 
taxed  heavily,  in  its  OAvn  substance,  hoAvever,  to  ensure  its  passage, 
and  reached  the  Amonoosuc  meadows  in  a  very  reduced  condition. 
The  account  between  highlands  and  lowlands  on  the  large  ledger  of 
traffic  was  balanced,  soon  after,  by  a  barrel  of  tobacco,  raised  on  the 
meadows  of  Lancaster,  which,  by  horse-power  and  ropes,  was  let 
dovm  the  pass  under  Mount  Willard,  and,  after  crossing  the  Saco 
thirty-two  times  before  reaching  Bartlett,  was  sent  on  its  smoother 
way  to  Portsmouth. 

The  Willey  House,  Mr.  Spaulding  tells  us,  was  built  as  early  as 
1793.  In  1803  a  road  was  laid  out  through  the  Notch  to  Bartlett, 
at  a  cost  of  forty  thousand  dollars  ;  and  so  many  teams  passed 
through  with  produce  that  it  was  quite  necessary  and  not  unprofitable 
to  keep  a  house  and  stable  in  the  Notch  for  their  accommodation. 
In  the  autumn  of  1825,  Mr.  Samuel  Willey,  Jr.,  with  his  family, 
moved  into  this  little  tenement,  which  has  derived  such  tragic  interest 
from  his  name.  During  the  following  winter,  we  are  told  that  his 
hospitable  kindness  and  shelter  were  greeted  with  as  much  gratitude 
by  travellers  who  were  obliged  to  contend  with  the  biting  frost,  the 
furious  storms,  and  the  drifted  snows  of  the  Notch,  as  the  monks  of 
St.  Bernard  receive  from  the  chilled  wanderers  of  the  Alps.  The 
teamsters  used  to  say,  that  when  a  furious  northwester  blew  through 
the  Notch  in  winter,  it  took  two  men  to  hold  one  man's  hair  on. 

In  the  spring  of  1826,  Mr.  Willey  began  to  enlarge  the  conven- 
iences of  the  little  inn  for  entertaining  guests.  And  in  the  early 
Bummer  the  spot  looked  very  attractive.  There  was  a  beautiful 
ineadow  in  front,  stretching  to  the  foot  of  the  frowning  wall  of  Mount 
Webster,  and  gemmed  with  tall  rock-maples.     To  be  sure,  Moimt 


188  thp:  white  hills. 

Willey  rose  at  a  rather  threatening  angle,  some  two  thousand  feet 
behind  the  house  ;  but  it  was  not  so  savage  in  appearance  as  Mount 
Webster  opposite,  and  pretty  much  the  whole  of  its  broad,  steep  wall 
was  draped  in  green.  In  a  bright  June  morning  the  little  meadow 
farm,  flecked  with  the  nibbhng  sheep,  and  cooled  by  the  patches  of 
shadow  flung  far  out  over  the  grass  from  the  thick  maple  foliage,  must 
have  seemed  to  a  traveller  pausing  there,  and  hearing  the  pleasant 
murmur  of  the  Saco  and  the  shrill  sweetness  of  the  Canada  Whist- 
ler, as  romantic  a  spot  as  one  could  fly  to,  to  escape  the  fever  and  the 
perils  of  the  world. 

Late  in  June,  Mr.  Willey  and  his  wife,  looking  from  the  back  win- 
dows of  their  house  in  the  afternoon  of  a  misty  day,  saw  a  large  mass 
of  the  mountain  above  them  sHding  through  the  fog  towards  their 
meadows,  and  almost  in  a  line  of  the  house  itself.  Rocks  and  earth 
came  plunging  down,  sweeping  whole  trees  before  them,  that  would 
stand  erect  in  the  swift  shde  for  rods  before  they  fell.  The  slide 
moved  under  their  eye  to  the  very  foot  of  the  mountain,  and  hurled 
its  frightful  burden  across  the  road.  At  first  they  were  greatly  ter- 
rified, and  resolved  to  remove  from  the  Notch.  But  Mr.  Willey,  on 
reflection,  felt  confident  that  such  an  event  was  not  likely  to  occur 
again  ;  and  was  satisfied  with  building  a  strong  hut  or  cave  a  little 
below  the  house  in  the  Notch,  which  would  certainly  be  secure,  and 
to  which  the  family  might  fly  for  shelter,  if  they  should  see  or  hear 
another  avalanche  that  seemed  to  threaten  their  home. 

Later  in  the  summer  there  was  a  long  hot  drought.  By  the  mid- 
dle of  August,  the  earth,  to  a  great  depth  in  the  mountain  region, 
was  dried  to  powder.  Then  came  several  days  of  south  wind  beto- 
kening copious  rain.  On  Sunday  the  27th  of  August,  the  rain  began 
to  fall.  On  Monday  the  28th,  the  storm  was  very  severe,  and  the 
rain  was  a  deluge.  Towards  evening,  the  clouds  around  the  White 
Mountain  range  and  over  the  Notch,  to  those  who  saw  them  from  a 
distance,  were  very  heavy,  black,  and  awful.  It  was  plain  that  they 
were  to  be  busy  in  their  office  as  a 

Factory  of  river  and  of  rain.  > 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  189 

Later  in  the  night  thej  poured  their  burden  in  streams.     Between 
nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  and  the  dawn  of  Tuesday,  the  Saco  rose  ' 
twenty-four  feet,  and  swept  the  whole  intervale  between  the  Notch 
and  Conway. 

.  The  little  Rocky  Branch  in  Bartlett,  a  feeder  of  the  Saco,  brought 
down  trees,  rocks,  and  logs  from  the  hill-side,  and  formed  a  dam 
near  a  log-cabin  on  its  meadow,  which  made  in  a  little  time  a  pond  of 
water  that  undermined  and  floated  the  house,  so  that  the  family  could 
not  escape.  They  climbed  into  the  upper  part  of  the  cabin,  and 
for  hours  were  tossed  on  the  mad  flood,  hearing  the  roar  of  the 
water  and  the  storm,  and  expecting  every  moment  to  be  crushed  or 
drowned.  The  cabin,  however,  held  together,  and  when  the  water 
subsided,  they  were  rescued  from  their  ark.  Near  by,  on  the  ElUs 
River,  which  also  pours  into  the  Saco,  a  herd  of  colts  were  SAvept 
from  a  yard  where  they  were  penned,  and  their  dead  bodies  were 
found  mangled  by  rocks  and  roots  several  miles  below.  Around 
Ethan  Crawford's  house,  just  beyond  the  Notch,  a  pond  of  over  two 
hundred  acres  Avas  formed  in  a  few  hours  ;  a  bridge  was  dashed 
against  a  shed  and  carried  aAvay  ninety  feet  of  it  ;  many  of  the  sheep 
were  drowned,  and  those  which  escaped  "  looked  as  though  they  had 
been  washed  in  a  mud-puddle."  The  water  came  within  eighteen 
inches  of  the  door,  and  between  the  house  and  stable  a  river  was 
running.  And  the  channel  of  the  Ammonoosuc,  near  by,  which  on 
Sunday  morning  was  a  few  yards  wide,  and  overhung  by  interlaced 
trees  of  the  ancient  forest,  was  torn  out  ten  times  as  wide  by  a 
mighty  torrent  that  whirled  off"  the  banks  and  trees,  and  filled  the 
broader  bed  with  boulders,  amid  which  in  summer  now  the  river  is 
almost  lost.  In  the  little  settlement  of  Gilead,  also,  thousands  of  tons 
of  earth,  rocks,  and  forest  were  loosened  from  the  overhanging  hills 
The  roar  of  the  slides  was  far  more  frightful  than  the  thunder,  and 
the  trails  of  fire  from  the  rushing  boulders  more  awful  than  the  light- 
ning. For  hours  the  inhabitants  were  in  consternation.  Theii 
houses  trembled  as  though  an  earthquake  shook  them,  and  they  ex- 
pected, every  moment,  to  be  buried  under  an  avalanche. 

27 


190  thp:  white  hills. 

At  Abel  Crawford's,  six  miles  from  the  Willey  House,  the  river 
overflowed  its  banks,  beat  down  the  fences,  tore  up  the  grain,  dashed 
to  pieces  a  new  saw-mill,  swept  the  logs,  boards,  and  ruins  into  the 
sand,  and  then  circhng  the  house,  flooded  the  cellar,  sapped  part  of 
the  wall,  and  rose  about  two  feet  on  the  lower  floors.  Mr.  CraAvford 
was  not  at  home  ;  but  the  heroic  wife  placed  lighted  candles  in  the 
windows,  and  to  prevent  the  house  from  being  demolished  by  the  jam 
that  was  threatening  it,  stood  at  a  window  near  the  corner,  and,  in 
the  midst  of  the  tempest,  pushed  away  Avith  a  pole  the  timber,  which 
the  mad  current  would  send  as  a  battering  ram  against  the  walls. 
And  now  and  then  the  lightning  would  show  her  the  drowning  sheep, 
bleating  for  help,  which  were  hurried  past  the  house  in  the  flood. 

On  the  morning  of  Tuesday  the  sun  rose  into  a  cloudless  sky,  and 
the  air  was  remarkably  transparent.  The  North  Conway  farmers, 
busy  in  saving  what  they  could  from  the  raging  flood  of  the  Saco, 
saw  clearly  how  terrible  the  storm  had  been  upon  the  Mount  Wash- 
ington range.  The  whole  line  was  devastated  by  landslides.  Great 
grooves  could  be  distinctly  seen  where  the  torrents  had  torn  out  all 
the  loose  earth  and  stones,  and  left  the  solid  ledge  of  the  mountain 
bare.  Wherever  there  was  a  brook,  stones  from  two  to  five  feet  in 
diameter  were  rolled  down  by  thousands,  in  tracks  from  ten  to  twenty 
rods  Avide,  dashing  huge  hemlocks  before  them,  and  leaving  no  tree 
nor  root  of  a  tree  in  their  path.  Soon  after,  a  party  ascending  by 
the  Ammonoosuc  counted  thirty  slides  along  the  acclivity  they 
climbed,  some  of  which  ravaged  thus  more  than  a  hundred  acres  of 
the  Avilderness, — not  only  mowing  off"  the  trees,  but  tearing  out  all  the 
soil  and  rocks  to  the  depth  of  tAventy  and  thirty  feet.  And  on  the 
declivities  toAvards  North  ConAvay,  it  Avas  thought  that  this  one  storm 
dismantled  more  of  the  great  range,  during  the  terrible  hours  of  that 
Monday  night,  than  all  the  rains  of  a  hundred  years  before. 

What  had  been  the  fate  of  the  little  house  in  the  Notch,  and  of  the 
Willey  family,  during  the  deluge  ?  All  communication  Avith  them  on 
Tuesday  morning  was  cut  off"  by  the  floods  of  the  Saco.     But  at  four 


THE   SACO   VALLEY. 


193 


o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  Tuesday,  a  traveller  passing  Ethan  Craw- 
ford's, some  seven  miles  above  the  Willey  House,  desired,  if  possible, 
to  get  through  the  Notch  that  night.     By  swimming  a  horse  across 


the  wildest  part  of  the  flood,  he  was  put  on  the  track.  In  the  nai> 
rowest  part  of  the  road  within  the  Notch,  the  water  had  torn  out 
huge  rocks,  and  left  holes  twenty  feet  deep,  and  had  opened  trenches, 


27* 


192  THE    WHITE    HH.LS. 

also,  ten  feet  deep  and  twenty  feet  long.  But  the  traveller,  while 
daylight  lasted,  could  make  his  way  on  foot  over  the  torn  and  ob- 
structed road,  and  he  managed  to  reach  the  lower  part  of  the  Notch 
just  before  dark.  The  Uttle  house  was  standing,  but  there  were  no 
human  inmates  to  greet  him.  And  what  desolation  around  !  The 
mountain  behind  it,  once  robed  in  beautiful  green,  was  striped  for 
two  or  three  miles  with  ravines  deep  and  freshly  torn.  The  lovely 
little  meadow  in  front  was  covered  with  wet  sand  and  rocks  inter- 
mixed with  branches  of  green  trees,  with  shivered  trunks,  whose 
splintered  ends  "  looked  similar  to  an  old  peeled  birchbroom,"  and 
with  dead  logs,  which  had  evidently  long  been  buried  beneath  the 
mountain  soil.  Not  even  any  of  the  bushes  that  grew  up  on  the 
meadow  in  front  of  the  house  were  to  be  seen.  The  sUde  from  the 
mountain  had  evidently  divided,  not  many  rods  above  the  house, 
against  a  sharp  ledge  of  rock.  It  had  then  joined  its  frightful  mass 
in  front  of  the  house,  and  pushed  along  to  the  bed  of  the  Saco,  cov- 
ering the  meadow,  in  some  places  thirty  feet,  with  the  frightful  debris 
and  mire. 

The  traveller  entered  the  house  and  went  through  it.  The  doors 
were  all  open  ;  the  beds  and  their  clothing  showed  that  they  had 
been  hurriedly  left ;  a  Bible  was  lying  open  on  a  table,  as  if  it  had 
been  read  just  before  the  family  had  departed.  The  traveller  con- 
soled himself,  at  last,  with  the  feeling  that  the  inmates  had  escaped 
to  Abel  Crawford's  below,  and  then  tried  to  sleep  in  one  of  the 
deserted  beds.  But  in  the  nisiht  he  heard  moanin";s  which  frightened 
him  so  much,  that  he  lay  sleepless  till  dawn.  Then  he  found  that 
they  were  the  groats  of  an  ox  in  the  stable,  that  was  partly  crushed 
under  broken  timbers  which  had  fallen  in.  The  two  horses  were 
killed.     He  released  the  ox,  and  went  on  his  way  towards  Bartlett. 

Before  any  news  of  the  disaster  had  reached  Conway,  the  faithful 
Jog  "  came  down  to  Mr.  Lovejoy's,  and,  by  meanings,  tried  to  make 
the  family  understand  what  had  taken  place.  Not  succeeding,  he 
left,  and  after  being  seen  frequently  on  the  road,  sometimes  heading 
north,  and  then  south,  running  almost  at  the  top  of  his   speed,  aS 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  193 

though  bent  on  some  absorbing  errand,  he  soon  disappeared  from 
the  region,  and  has  never  since  been  seen." 

On  Wednesday  evening  suspicions  of  the  safety  of  the  family  were 
carried  down  to  Bartlett  and  North  Conway,  where  Mr.  Willey's  father 
and  brothers  liv^ed.  But  they  were  not  credited.  The  terrible  cer- 
tainty was  to  be  communicated  to  the  father  in  the  most  thrilling 
way.  At  midnight  of  Wednesday,  a  messenger  reached  the  bank  of 
the  river  opposite  his  house  in  Lower  Bartlett,  but  could  not  cross. 
He  blew  a  trumpet,  blast  after  blast.  The  noise  and  the  mountain 
echoes  startled  the  family  and  neighborhood  from  their  repose.  They 
soon  gathered  on  the  river  bank,  and  heard  the  sad  message  shouted 
to  them  throuEfh  the  darkness. 

On  Thursday  the  31st  of  August,  the  family  and  many  neighbors 
were  able  to  reach  the  Notch.  Tall  Ethan  Crawford  left  his  farm 
which  the  floods  had  ravaged,  and  went  down  through  the  Notch  to 
meet  them.  "When  I  got  there,"  he  says,  "on  seeing  the  friends 
of  that  well-beloved  family,  and  having  been  acquainted  -with  them 
for  many  years,  my  heart  was  full  and  my  tongue  refused  utterance, 
and  I  could  not  for  a  considerable  length  of  time  speak  to  one  of  ' 
them,  and  could  only  express  my  regards  I  had  to  them  in  pressing 
their  hands — but  gave  full  vent  to  tears.  This  was  the  second  time ; 
my  eyes  were  wet  with  tears  since  grown  to  manhood."  Search  was 
commenced  at  once  for  the  buried  bodies.  The  first  that  was  ex- 
humed was  one  of  the  hired  men,  David  Allen,  a  man  of  poAverful 
frame  and  remarkable  strength.  He  was  but  slightly  disfigured.  He 
was  found  near  the  top  of  a  pile  of  earth  and  shattered  timbers  with 
"  hands  clenched  and  full  of  broken  sticks  and  small  limbs  of  trees." 
Soon  the  bodies  of  Mrs.  AVilley  and  her  husband  were  discovered — 
the  latter  not  so  crushed  that  it  could  not  be  recognized. 

No  more  could  be  found  that  day.  Rude  cofiins  Avere  prepared, 
and  the  next  day,  Friday,  about  sunset,  the  simple  burial-service  was 
offered.  Elder  Samuel  Hasaltine,  standing  amidst  the  company  of 
strong,  manly  forms,  whose  faces  were  wet  with  tears,  commenced 
the  service  mth  the  words  of  Isaiah :    "  Who  hath  measured   the 


194  THE    WHITE    HILLS. 

waters  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  meted  out  heaven  with  a  span, 
and  comprehended  the  dust  of  the  earth  in  a  measure,  and  weighed 
the  mountains  in  scales,  and  the  hills  in  a  balance."'  How  fitting 
this  language  in  that  solemn  pass,  and  how  unspeakably  more  impres- 
sive must  the  words  have  seemed,  when  the  mountains  themselves 
took  them  up  and  Hterallj  responded  them,  joining  as  mourners  in 
the  burial  hturgj  I  For  the  minister  stood  so  that  each  one  of  these 
sublime  words  was  given  back  by  the  echo,  in  a  tone  as  clear  and 
reverent  as  that  in  which  they  were  uttered.  We  may  easily  beheve 
that  the  "  effect  of  all  this  was  soul-stirring  beyond  description." 

The  next  day  the  body  of  the  youngest  child,  about  three  years 
old,  was  found,  and  also  that  of  the  other  hired  man.  On  Sunday, 
the  eldest  daughter  was  discovered,  at  a  distance  from  the  others, 
across  the  river.  A  bed  was  found  on  the  i-uias  near  her  body.  It 
was  supposed  that  she  was  drowned,  as  no  bruise  or  mark  was  found 
upon  her.  She  was  twelve  years  old,  and  Ethan  Crawford  tells  us 
"  she  had  acquired  a  good  education,  and  seemed  more  like  a  gentle- 
man's daughter,  of  fashion  and  affluence,  than  the  daughter  of  one 
who  had  located  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains."  These  were 
buried  without  any  religious  service.  Thi*ee  childi*en, — a  daughter 
and  two  sons, — were  never  found. 

It  seems  to  us  that  nothing  can  interpret  so  effectively  the  terror 
of  this  tragedy  as  the  connected  statement  of  the  simple  facts  so  far 
as  they  are  known.  We  are  indebted  for  the  facts  to  Rev.  Benjamin 
AVilley's  uiteresting  "  Incidents  in  White  Moimtain  History,"  and  to 
the  story  of  Ethan  C^a^vford's  life,  now  out  of  print.  But  the  horror 
of  that  night  to  the  doomed  family, — who  can  imagine  that  ?  The 
glimpses  given  us  of  the  fury  of  the  storm,  by  the  peril  of  Abel 
CraAvford's  family,  and  by  the  experience  of  the  settlers  that  were 
tossed  in  their  hut  upon  the  flood  of  the  Rocky  Branch,  furnish  but 
faint  coloring  of  the  a'svfulness  of  the  tempest,  as  the  WiUey  family 
must  have  seen  and  felt  it.  About  two  years  after,  a  man  who  had 
moved  into  the  same  house  witnessed  a  thunder- tempest  in  the  night, 


THE    SACO    VALLEY.  19o 

which  was  not  nearly  so  terrible  as  the  storm  of  1S2G,  but  -which 
BuppHes  us  -with  better  means  of  conceiving  the  tremendous  passion 
of  the  elements  amid  which  the  Wille y  family  were  overwhelmed,  and 
what  must  have  been  their  consternation  and  despair.  We  are  told 
that  the  "  horror  of  great  darkness  "  that  filled  the  Notch  would  be 
dispelled  by  the  blinding  horror  of  lightnmg,  that  now  and  then 
kindled  the  vast  gray  wall  of  Mount  Webster  opposite  the  house, 
opened 

The  in'isly  giilfs  and  slaty  rifts 
Which  seam  its  shiver'd  liead. 

and  showed  the  torrents  that  were  hissing  down  its  black  shelves  and 
frightful  precipices.  Next  a  rock,  loosened  by  a  stream  or  smitten 
by  a  thunderbolt,  would  leap  down  the  wall,  followed  all  the  way  by 
a  trail  of  splendor  that  lighted  the  whole  gorge,  and  waking  a  re- 
verberating noise  by  its  concussions,  more  frightful  than  the  roar  of 
the  thunder,  which  seemed  to  make  the  very  ground  tremble.  To 
this  was  added  the  rage  of  the  river  and  the  fury  of  the  rain, — and 
all  united  to  produce  a  dismay  which  we  may  well  believe  prevented 
the  inmates  from  speaking  for  half  an  hour,  and  caused  them  "  to 
stand  and  look  at  each  other  almost  petrified  with  fear." 
For  several  hours  the  Willey  family  were  enveloped  in 

Sucli  sheets  of  fire,  such  bursts  of  horrid  thunder, 
Such  groans  of  roaring  wind  and  rain, 

as  flamed  and  roared  in  the  storm  that  beat  upon  Lear.  The  father 
and  mother,  anxious  for  their  young  children,  doubtless  saw,  with 
their  mind's  eye,  that  fearful  land-slide  of  June  more  vividly  than 
any  horror  which  the  lightning  showed  them  on  the  walls  of  their 
gigantic  prison.  In  every  jmuse  of  the  thunder  they  were  straining 
to  hear  the  more  fearful  somid  of  the  grinding  avalanche.  And  what 
must  have  been  the  concentrated  agony  and  dread,  Avhen  they  heard 
the  moving  of  the  loosened  ridge ;  heard  nearer  and  nearer  its  accu 
mulating  roar ;  heard,  and  saw  perhaps,  through  one  flaming  sheet  of 
the  hghtning,  that  it  was  rushing  in  the  line  of  their  little  home; 


196  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

and,  unable  to  command  their  nerves,  or  hoping  to  outrun  its  flood, 
rushed  from  their  security  into 

The  tyranny  of  the  open  night  too  rough 
For  nature  to  endure. 

The  relatives  who  studied  the  ground  closely  after  the  disaster 
were  luiable  to  conjecture  why  the  family  could  not  have  outrun  the 
land-slide,  or  crossed  its  track,  if  they  left  the  house  as  soon  as  they* 
heard  its  descent  far  up  the  mountain.  Some  of  them  at  least,  they 
thought,  should  thus  have  been  able  to  escape  its  devastation.  Mr. 
James  Willey  informs  us  that  the  spirit  of  liis  brother  appeared  to 
him  in  a  dream,  and  told  him  that  the  family  left  the  house  sometime 
before  the  avalanche,  fearing  to  be  drowned  or  floated  off"  by  the  Saco, 
which  had  risen  to  their  door.  They  fled  back,  he  said,  farther  u}) 
the  mountain  to  be  safe  against  the  peril  of  water,  and  thus,  when 
the  land-slide  moved  towards  them,  were  compelled  to  run  a  greater 
distance  to  escape  it  than  would  have  been  required  if  they  had  staid 
in  their  home  ;  while  they  would  have  been  swept  off"  by  the  flood,  if 
they  had  kept  the  line  of  the  road  which  could  have  conducted  them 
out  of  the  Not^h.  It  is  a  singular  fact,  Mr.  Benjamin  Willey  tells 
us,  that  this  explanation  accounts  for  more  kciown  features  of  the 
catastroi^he  than  any  other  which  has  been  formed.  It  explains  why 
the  eldest  daughter  was  found  without  a  bruise,  as  though  she  had 
been  drowned  ;  and  also  the  fact  that  a  bed  was  found  near  her 
body,  with  which  certainly  the  family  would  not  have  encumbered 
themselves,  if  they  had  rushed  from  the  house  with  the  single  hope  of 
escaping  destruction  when  the  avalanche  was  near.  It  accounts  for 
the  appearance  of  the  body  of  the  hired  man,  who  was  first  discovered. 
And,  by  connecting  the  terror  of  a  sudden  flood  with  the  other  horrors 
of  the  night,  it  brings  the  picture  into  harmony  with  what  we  know 
of  the  ravage  and  disaster  along  the  line  of  the  Saco  below. 

The  Bible  was  open  on  the  table  in  the  Willey  House  when  it  was 
entered  the  next  day.  The  family  were  then  secure  from  the  wi'ath 
of  elements  that  desolate  the  earth.  At  what  place  could  the  book 
have  been  found  open  more  fitting  than  the  eighteenth  psalm,  to  ex 


THE   SACO    VALLEY. 


197 


press  the  horrors  of  the  tempest  and  the  deliverance  which  the  spirit 
finds  ?  "  The  Lord  also  thundered  in  the  heavens,  and  the  Highest 
gave  his  voice  ;  hailstones  and  coals  of  fire.  Then  the  channels  of 
waters  were  seen,  and  the  foundations  of  the  world  were  discovered 


?^: 


-•^     fi- 


at thy  rebuke,  0  Lord,  at  the  blast  of  the  breath  of  thy  nostrils. 
He  sent  from  above,  he  took  me,  he  drew  me  out  of  many  waters. 
He  brought  me  forth  also  into  a  large  place  ;  he  delivered  me,  because 
he  deh^hted  in  me." 


198  THE    WHITE   IITl.LS. 

Upon  the  spot  where  a  portion  of  the  family  were  buried,  it  was  a 
custom  during  several  years  for  each  visitor  to  cast  a  stone.  Thus  a 
large  monument  was  reared  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  slide.  One  visitor, 
Dr.  T.  W.  Parsons  of  Boston,  has  cast  an  oifering  upon  the  grave, 
that  will  last  longer  than  the  soUd  pile,  in  the  following  ballad,  one  of 
the  most  powerful  expressions  of  his  genius,  and  which  might  have 
obviated  the  necessity  of  the  long  description  which  we  have  given. 


;^"THE   Wn.LEY   HOUSE. 
A   BALLAD    OF   THE    WHITE   HILLS. 


Come,  children,  put  your  baskets  down, 
And  let  the  blushing  berries  be; 

Sit  here  and  ^yreathe  a  laurel  crown. 
And  if  I  win  it,  give  it  me. 

'Tis  afternoon — it  is  .July — 

The  mountain  shadows  grow  and  grow; 
Your  time  of  rest  and  mine  is  nigh — 

The  moon  was  rising  long  ago. 

While  yet  on  old  Chocorua's  top 
The  lingering  sunlight  s.ays  farewell. 

Your  purple  fingered  labor  stop, 
And  hear  a  tale  I  have  to  tell. 


You  see  tliat  cottage  in  the  glen. 

Yon  desolate  forsaken  shed — 
Whose  mouldering  threshold,  now  and  then, 

Only  a  few  stray  travellers  tread. 

No  smoke  is  curling  from  its  roof. 

At  eve  no  cattle  gather  round. 
No  neighbor  now,  with  dint  of  hoof, 

Prints  his  glad  visit  on  the  ground. 

A  happy  home  it  was  of  yore: 
At  morn  the  flocks  went  nibbling  by, 

And  Farmer  Willey,  at  his  door. 
Oft  made  their  reckoning  with  his  eye. 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  lHO 

Where  yon  rank  alder-  trees  have  sprune;, 

And  birches  chister  thick  and  tall, 
Once  the  stout  apple  overhung, 

With  his  red  gifts,  the  orchard  wall. 

Right  fond  and  pleasant,  in  their  ways. 

The  gentle  Willey  people  were; 
I  knew  them  in  those  peaceful  days, 

And  JIary — every  one  knew  her. 

III. 

Two  summers  now  had  seared  the  hills, 

Two  years  of  little  rain  or  dew; 
High  up  the  courses  of  the  rills 

The  wild  rose  and  the  ra=pberry  grew; 

The  mountain  sides  were  cracked  and  dry, 

And  frequent  fissures  on  the  plain, 
Like  mouths,  gaped  open  to  the  sky. 

As  though  the  parched  earth  prayed  for  raia 

One  sultry  August  afternoon, 

Old  Willey,  looking  toward  the  West, 
«;aid — "  We  shall  hear  the  thunder  soon; 

Oh!  if  it  bring  us  rain,  'tis  blest." 

And  even  with  his  word,  a  smell 

Of  sprinkled  fields  passeil  through  the  air 
And  from  a  single  cloud  there  fell  • 

A  few  large  drops — the  rain  was  there. 

Ere  set  of  sun  a  thunder-stroke 

Gave  signal  to  the  floods  to  rise; 
Then  the  great  seal  of  heaven  was  broke! 

Then  burst  the  gates  that  barred  the  skies!    • 

While  from  the  west  the  clouds  rolled  on, 

And  from   the  nor' west  gathered  fast; 
"  We'll  have  enough  of  rain  anon," 

Said  Willey—"  if  this  deluge  last." 

For  all  these  cliff's  that  stand  sublime 

Around,  like  solemn  priests  appeared. 
Gray  Druids  of  the  olden  time, 

Each  with  his  white  and  streaming  beard 

Till  in  one  sheet  of  seething  foam 

The  mingling  torrents  joined  their  might; 
But  in  the  Willeys'  quiet  home 

Was  naught  but  silence  and  "  Good  night! 

28* 


200  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

For  soon  they  went  to  their  repose, 
And  in  their  beds,  all  safe  and  warm, 

Saw  not  liow  fast  the  waters  rose, 
Heard  not  the  growinc,'  of  the  storm. 

But  just  before  the  stroke  of  ten. 
Old  Willey  looked  into  the  night, 

And  called  upon  his  two  hired  men, 
And  woke  his  wife,  who  struck  a  light, 

Though  her  hand  trembled,  as  she  heard 
The  horses  whinnying  in  the  stall. 

And — "  children !  "  was  the  only  word, 
That  woman  from  her  lips  let  fall. 

"  Mother!  "  the  frighted  infants  cried, 
"What  is  it?  has  a  whirlwind  come?" 

Wildly  the  weeping  mother  eyed 
Each  little  darling,  but  was  dumb. 

A  sound!  as  though  a  mighty  gale 
Some  forest  from  its  hold  had  riven. 

Mixed  with  a  rattling  noise  like  hail, 
God!  art  thou  raining  rocks  from  heaven 

A  flash!  0  Christ!  the  lightning  showed 
The  mountain  moving  from  his  seat! 

Out !  out  into  the  slippery  road ! 
Into  the  wet  with  naked  feet! 

No  time  for  dress — for  life !  for  life ! 

No  time  for  any  word  but  this: 
-The  father  grasped  his  boys — his  wife 

Snatched  her  young  babe — but  not  to  kiss. 

And  JIary  with  the  younger  girl. 

Barefoot  and  shivering  in  their  smocks, 

Sped  forth  amid  that  angry  -whirl 
Of  rushilig  waves  and  whelming  rocks. 

For  down  the  mountain's  crumbling  side, 
Full  half  the  mountain  from  on  high 

Came  sinking,  like  the  snows  that  slide 
From  the  great  Alps  about  July. 

And  with  it  went  the  lordly  ash. 
And  with  it  went  the  kingly  pine, 

Cedar  and  oak  amid  the  crash. 
Dropped  down  like  clippings  of  the  vine. 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  201 

Two  rivers  rushed — the  one  that  broke 

His  wonted  bounds  and  drowned  the  land, 
And  one  that  streamed  with  dust  and  smoke, 

A  flood  of  earth,  and  stones  and  sand. 

Then  for  a  time  the  vale  was  dry. 

The  soil  had  swallowed  up  the  wave; 
Till  one  star  looking  from  the  sky, 

A  signal  to  the  tempest  gave: 

The  clouds  withdrew,  the  storm  was  o'er, 

ik-ight  Aldabaran  burned  again; 
The  buried  river  rose  once  more. 

And  foamed  along  his  gravelly  glen. 

IV. 

At  morn  the  men  of  Conway  felt 

Some  dreadful  tiling  had  chanced  that  night, 
And  some  by  Breton  woods  who  dwelt 

Observed  the  mountain's  altered  height. 

Old  Crawford  and  the  Fabyan  lad 

Came  down  from  Amonoosuc  then, 
And  passed  the  Notcli — ah!  strange  and  sad 

It  was  to  see  the  ravaged  glen. 

But  having  toiled  for  miles,  in  doubt, 

With  many  a  risk  of  limb  and  neck. 
They  saw,  and  hailed  with  joyful  shout, 

The  Willey  House  amid  the  wreck. 

That  avalanche  of  stones  and  sand. 

Remembering  mercy  in  its  wrath, 
Had  parted,  and  on  either  hand 

Pursued  the  ruin  of  its  path. 

And  there,  upon  its  pleasant  slope. 

The  cottage,  like  a  sunny  isle 
That  wakes  the  shipwrecked  seaman's  hope, 

Amid  that  horror  seemed  to  smile. 

And  still  upon  the  lawut  before, 

The  peaceful  sheep  were  nibbling  nigh; 
But  Farmer  Willey  at  his  door 

Stood  not  to  count  them  with  his  eye. 

And  in  the  dwelling — 0  despair! 

The  silent  room!  the  vacant  bed  I 
The  children's  little  shoes  were  there — 

But  whither  were  the  children  fled? 


202  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

That  day  a  woman's  head,  all  g:ished, 

Its  long  hair  streaming  in  the  flow, 
Went  o'er  the  dam,  and  then  w;is  dashed 

Among  the  whirlpools  down  below. 

And  farther  down,  by  Saco's  side, 

They  found  the  mangled  forms  of  four. 
Held  in  an  eddy  of  the  tide; 

But  Mary,  she  was  seen  no  more. 

Yet  never  to  this  mournful  vale 

Shall  any  maid,  in  summer  thiie. 
Come  without  thinking  of  the  tale 

I  now  have  told  you  in  my  rhyme. 

And  when  tlie  Willey  House  is  gone, 

And  its  last  rafter  is  decayed. 
Its  history  may  j'^et  live  on 

In  this  your  ballad  that  I  made. 
■t      : 

There  is  little  need  now  of  any  detailed  or  elaborate  descrip- 
tion of  the  ^Yildness  and  majesty  of  the  Notch.  Its  tremendous 
walls  are  touched  with  a  terror,  reflected  from  the  Willey  calamity, 
which  is  not  explained  by  the  abrupt  battlements  of  Mount  Willey 
and  Mount  Webster,  and  the  purple  bluff  of  Mount  Willard,  which 
stands  in  the  way  between  them  to  forbid  any  passage  through. 
It  is  well  to  remind  visitors  of  the  Crawford  House,  however,  that 
the  most  impressive  view  of  the  Notch,  after  all,  is  not  gained  by 
riding  up  through  it  from  Bartlett,  but  by  riding  down  into  it  from 
the  Crawford  House  through  the  narrow  gateway.  This  excursion 
should,  without  fail,  be  made  from  the  Crawford  House  by  all  persons 
who  have  only  ascended  through  it  from  Conway,  by  the  stage.  They 
mil  find  a  turn  in  the  road,  not  a  mile  from  the  gateway,  where  three 
tremendous  rocky  lines  sweep  down  to  a  focus  from  Mount  Willard, 
Mount  Webster,  and  Mount  Willey.  There  is  more  character  in  this 
view  than  in  the  aspect  of  the  open  gorge  at  the  Willey  House.  This 
is  the  Notch  in  bud,  with  its  power  concentrated  and  suggested  to  the 
imagination.  At  the  Willey  House  it  is  all  open ;  you  stand  between 
walls  two  miles  long,  and  there  are  no  ragged,  nervous  lines  of  rock 
running  down  from  a  cloud,  or  lying  sharp  against  the  blue  distance. 


THE    SACO   \  ALLEY. 


203 


Especially  if  one  can  take  a  walk  or  flrive  to  the  point  we  speak  of, 
near  the  Crawford  House,  late  in  a  clear  afternoon,  he  will  be  doubly 
repaid  by  the  sight  of  one  of  these  mountain  edges  sweeping  down  hi 
shadow  to  the  haggard  ruins  at  its  base,  and  of  the  other  glistening  in 
delicate  and  cheerful  gold.    A  moonlight  view  at  the  same  spot  gives 


the  contrast  no  less  marked  and  impressive,  in  blackness  on  one  side 
and  silver  on  the  other. 

But  to  know  the  Notch  truly,  one  must  take  the  drive  from  the 
Crawford  House  to  the  top  of  Mount  Willard,  and  look  doAvn  into  it. 
A.  man  stands  there  as  an  ant  miffht  stand  on  the  ed":e  of  a  huge 


204  THE   WHITE   HH.LS. 

tureen.  AVe  are  lifted  twelve  hundred  feet  over  the  gulf  on  the 
brink  of  an  almost  perpendicular  wall,  and  see  the  sides,  Webster  and 
Willey,  rising  on  either  hand  eight  hundred  feet  higher  still,  and 
running  off  two  or  three  miles  towards  the  Willey  House.  The  road 
below  is  a  mere  bird-track.  The  long  battlements  that,  from  the 
front  of  the  Willey  House,  tower  on  each  side  so  savagely,  from  this 
point  seem  to  flow  down  in  charming  curves  to  meet  at  the  stream, 
which  looks  like  the  slender  keel  from  which  spring  up  the  ribs  that 
form  the  hold  of  a  tremendous  line-of-battle  ship  on  the  stocks.  But 
perhaps  we  suggest  a  more  exact  and  noble  comparison  if  we  speak  of 
its  resemblance  to  the  trough  of  the  sea  in  a  storm.  They  are 
earth-waves,  these  curving  walls  that  front  each  other.  They  were 
flung  up  thus,  it  may  be,  in  the  passion  of  the  boiling  land,  and  stif- 
fened before  they  could  dash  their  liquid  granite  against  each  other, 
or  subside  by  successive  oscillations  into  calm. 

Mr.  Ruskin  has  called  attention  by  draAvings  in  the  fourth  volume 
of  the  IS^odern  Painters,  to  the  picturesque  characters  of  the  lines  of 
projection  and  escape  among  the  debris  of  the  Swiss  mountains. 
They  are  almost  always  found  to  represent  portions  of  infinite  curves  ; 
and  in  spite  of  breaks  and  disturbances,  their  natural  unity  is  so 
sweet  and  perfect,  that  we  have  little  difficulty  in  turnhig  the 
sketches  of  them  into  the  outlmes  of  a  bird's  wing,  slightly  ruffled,  but 
still  graceful,  and  very  different  from  any  that  we  should  suppose 
would  be  designed  or  drawn  by  a  land-slide,  or  the  rage  of  a  torrent. 
Standing  over  the  Notch,  also,  Ave  are  struck  with  the  gi-ace  that 
curbed  the  rage  of  the  murderous  avalanches.  We  remember  talk- 
ing once  with  a  man  who  was  very  indignant  at  all  poetic  descriptions 
of  natural  scenery.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  what  can  be  honestly  said 
of  this  Willey  Notch,  but.  '  Good  Heavens,  what  a  rough  hole  !  '  " 
Yet,  on  Mount  Willard,  it  is  the  delicacy  of  slope  and  curve,  and  not 
the  roughness,  that  is  prominent.  "  Strength  and  beauty  are  in  his 
sanctuary,"  and  it  is  beauty  which  the  savage  forces  serve  at  last. 
The  waste  of  the  mountains  is  not  destructive,  but  creative.  In  the 
Ions:  nm  the  ravage  of  the  avalanche  is  beneficent.     And  here  we 


THE   SACO   VALLF.Y.  205 

see  how,  as  its  apparent  cruelty  is  overruled  by  the  law  of  love,  ita 
apparent  disorder  is  overruled  by  the  law  of  loveliness.  "  The  hand 
of  God,  leading  the  wrath  of  the  torrent  to  minister  to  the  life  of 
mankind,  guides  also  its  grim  surges  by  the  law  of  their  delight ;  and 
bridles  the  bounding  rocks,  and  appeases  the  flying  foam,  till  they  lie 
down  in  the  same  lines  that  lead  forth  the  fibres  of  the  down  on  a 
cygnet's  breast." 

The  \\evf  of  the  summits  of  the  Mount  Washington  range,  too, 
Irom  Mount  Willard — the  only  point  within  some  miles  of  the  Notch 
where  any  of  them  can  be  seen — is  a  reward  for  the  short  excursion, 
almost  as  valuable  as  the  view  of  the  Gulf  of  the  Notch.  And  let 
us  again  advise  visitors  to  ascend  Mount  Willard  if  possible,  late  in 
the  afternoon.  They  will  then  see  one  long  wall  of  the  Notch  in 
shadow,  and  can  watch  it  move  slowly  up  the  curves  of  the  opposite 
side,  displacing  the  yellow  splendor,  while  the  dim  green  dome  of 
Washington  is  gilded  by  the  sinking  sun  "  with  heavenly  alchemy." 

Those  who  love  mountain  cascades,  and  especially  those  who  love 
to  chmb  to  them  through  the  undisturbed  wilderness,  will  find  now  a 
new  temptation  to  a  drive  into  the  Notch  and  through  it  from  the 
Crawford  House.  The  Flume  and  the  Silver  Cascade  pouring  down 
from  Mount  Webster  have  gladdened  the  eyes  of'  almost  all  the 
visitors  to  the  hotel,  for  they  are  visible  from  the  road.  The  wind- 
ings and  leapings  of  the  Silver  Cascade,  whose  downward  path  for 
more  than  a  mile  is  in  view,  suggest  the  movement  and  in  part  the 
picture  of  Shelley's  lines  : — 

Aiethusa  arose 

From  hei"  couch  of  snows 
In  the  Acrocenxunian  mountains, — 

From  cloud  and  from  crag, 

With  many  a  jag, 
Shepherding  her  bright  fountains, 

She  leapt  down  the  rocks 

With  her  rainbow  locks 
Streaming  among  the  streams; — 

Her  steps  paved  with  green 

The  downward  ravine 
29 


206 


■JllK    WHITE    lilLLS, 


}?£■' 


m. 


Which  slopes  to  the  western  gleams: 
And  gliding  and  springing, 
She  went  ever  singing, 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  207 

In  murmurs  as  soft  as  sleep; 

The  Earth  seemed  to  love  her, 

And  Heaven  smUed  above  her, 
As  she  lingered  towards  the  deep. 

But  a  more  wild  and  beautiful  waterfall  than  any  hitherto  seen  on 
the  western  side  of  the  mountains,  was  discovered  on  Mount  WUley 
in  September,  1858,  by  Mr.  Ripley  of  North  Conway,  and  Mr.  Por- 
ter of  New  York.  An  old  fisherman  had  reported  at  the  Crawford 
Hodse  that  he  had  once  seen  a  wonderful  cascade  on  a  stream  that 
pours  down  that  mountain,  and  empties  into  the  Saco  below  the  Wil- 
ley  House.  These  gentlemen  drove  through  the  Notch  to  the  sec- 
ond bridge  below  the  Willey  House,  which  crosses  a  stream  with  the 
unpoetical  name  of  Cow  Brook,  and  followed  up  this  rivulet  into  the 
wild  forest.  An  ascent  of  nearly  two  miles  revealed  to  them  the  ob- 
ject of  their  search  inclosed  between  the  granite  walls  of  a  very 
steep  ravine,  whose  cliffs,  crowned  with  a  dense  forest  of  spruce,  are 
singularly  grand.  They  saw  the  cascade  leaping  first  over  four  rocky 
stairways,  each  of  them  about  six  feet  high,  and  then  gliding,  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  with  many  grace- 
ful curves  down  a  solid  bed  of  granite  into  a  pool  below.  The  Cas- 
cade is  about  seventy-five  feet  wide  at  the  base,  and  fifty  at  the 
summit. 

Exploring  the  stream  nearly  a  mile  higher,  other  falls  were  discov- 
ered, each  one  deserving  especial  notice,  and  one  or  two  of  most  rare 
beauty.  The  finest  of  these  upper  falls  was  christened,  we  believe 
by  the  discoverers,  the  "  Sparkhng  Cascade,"  and  the  larger  one 
below,  the  "  Sylvan-Glade  Cataract."  The  brook  itself  has  been 
named  since  in  honor  of  Mr.  Ripley,  and  the  ravine,  of  Mr.  Porter. 
We  hope,  however,  that  the  name  "  Avalanche  Brook,"  which  we 
beUeve  the  explorers  first  gave  to  it,  may  be  the  permanent  title  of 
the  stream,  since  it  flows  near  the  track  of  the  fatal  land-slide  of  182G, 
and  that  Mr.  Ripley's  name  may  be  transferred  to  the  Cataract. 

Child  of  the  clouds!  remote  from  every  taint 
Of  sordid  industry  thy  lot  is  cast; 
Thine  are  the  honors  of  the  lofty  waste  -, 


208 


THE    WHITE   HILLS. 


^^ 


:^j 


^1^  j?-i( " 


i./i 


^gi^^j,  j"^  ,3 


A 


Not  seldom   when  with  heat  the  valleys  tainr. 
Thy  handmaid   Frost  with  spangled  tissue  quaint 


THE    SACO    VALLEY.  209 

Thy  cradle  decks;— to  chant  thy  birtli,  thou  hast 

No  meaner  Poet  than  the  whistling  Blast, 

And  Desolation  is  thy  Patron-Saint! 

She  guards  thee,  ruthless  Power!  who  would  not  spare 

Those  mighty  forests,  once  the  bison's  screen. 

Where  stalked  the  huge  deer  to  his  shaggy  lair 

Through  paths  and  alleys  roofed  with  sombre  green; 

Thousands  of  years  before  the  silent  air 

Was  pierced  by  whizzing  shaft  of  hunter  keen! 

&;hi.Cliampney,  who  visited  these  falls  about  a  fortnight  after  their 
discovery,  is  inclined  to  ascribe  to  them  a  nobler  beauty  than  any 
others  thus  far  known  among  the  mountains.  He  describes  the  pic- 
turesque rock-forms  as  wonderful,  and  their  richness  in  color  and 
marking,  in  mosses  and  lichens,  as  more  admirable  than  any  others 
he  has  had  the  privilege  of  studying  in  the  mountain  region.  And 
this  cascade  is  only  a  sample,  probably,  of  the  uncelebrated  beauties 
in  the  wilderness  around  the  White  Hills.  With  the  exception  of 
the  hunter  who  gave  the  rumor  of  them  at  the  Crawford  House,  they 
had  not,  probably,  been  looked  upon  by  human  eyes  until  Mr.  Rip- 
ley and  his  party  detected  them.  When  Mr.  Champney  came  down 
from  his  first  study  of  their  picturesqueness,  to  which  we  are  indebted 
for  the  sketch  here  given,  the  comet  Avas  blazing  above  the  jagged 
rocks  of  Mount  Webster.  And  when  that  comet,  on  its  preceding 
visit,  hung  over  a  world  upon  which  no  representatives  of  our  race  had 
appeared,  to  admire  the  majestic  curve  of  its  trail  and  to  compute  its 
orbit,  the  music  of  the  waterfall  was  still  flowing,  it  may  be. 

Through  the  green  tents,  by  eldest  Nature  drest, 

and  its  cool  spray  was  sprinkled,  as  now,  upon 

the  unplanted  forest  floor,  whereon 
The  all-seeing  sun  for  ages  hath  not  shone; 
Where  feeds  the  moose,  and  walks  the  surly  bear. 
And  up  the  tall  mast  runs  the  woodpecker. 

Indeed,  only  a  short  distance  from  the  Crawford  House,  not  more 
tliau  a  fifteen  minutes'  walk  through  the  woods,  a  succession  of  little 
cascades  were  discovered,  in  the  same  month,  which  Nature  had  cun- 


210  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

ningly  kept  from  human  knowledge.  These  being  so  easily  accessi- 
ble, and  yet  so  wild  and  charming,  must  add  very  much  to  the 
attractions  of  the  hotel  at  the  Notch.  Perhaps  it  is  these  cascades 
that  feed  the  "  Basin,"  which  has  attained  celebrity  from  Rev.  Henry 
Ward  Beecher's  bath  in  it,  after  his  return  from  the  top  of  Mount 
Washington.  Indeed,  it  is  possible,  that,  without  knowing  it,  Mr. 
Beecher  was  the  discoverer  of  these  falls.  If  so,  they  found  their 
poet  when  they  first  gave  hospitality  in  their  crystal  bowl  to  a  human 
figure,  as  the  following  passage,  which  is  as  good  as  a  bath  to  the 
mind,  Avill  abundantly  testify  : — 

"  We  went  toward  the  Notch,  and,  turning  to  the  right  at  the  first 
little  stream  that  let  itself  down  from  the  mountains,  we  sought  the 
pools  in  which  we  knew  such  streams  kept  their  SAveetest  thoughts, 
expressing  them  by  trout.  The  only  difficulty  was  in  the  selection. 
This  pool  Avas  deep,  rock-rimmed,  transparent,  gravel-bottomed.  The 
next  was  level-edged  and  rock-bottomed,  but  received  its  water  with 
such  a  gush  that  it  whirled  around  the  basin  in  a  liquid  dance  of  bub- 
bles. The  next  one  received  a  divided  stream,  one  part  coming  over 
a  shelving  rock  and  sheeting  down  in  white,  w^hile  the  other  portion 
fell  into  a  hollow  and  murmuring  crevice,  and  came  gurgling  forth 
from  the  half-dark  channel.  Half  way  down,  the  rock  was  smooth 
and  pleasant  to  the  feet.  In  the  deepest  part  was  fine  gravel  and 
powdered  mountain,  commonly  called  sand.  The  waters  left  this 
pool  even  more  beautifully  than  they  entered  it ;  for  the  rock  had 
been  rounded  and  grooved,  so  that  it  gave  a  channel  Hke  the  finest 
moulded  Up  of  a  water-vase  ;  and  the  moss,  beginning  below,  had 
crept  up  into  the  very  throat  of  the  passage,  and  lined  it  completely, 
giving  to  the  clear  water  a  green  hue  as  it  rushed  through,  whirling 
itself  into  a  plexus  of  cords,  or  a  kind  of  pulsating  braid  of  water. 
This  WIS  my  pool.  It  waited  for  me.  How  deliciously  it  opened  its 
flood  tc  my  coming.  It  rushed  up  to  every  pore,  and  sheeted  my  skin 
with  an  aqueous  covering,  prepared  in  the  mountain  water-looms.  Ah, 
the  coldness  ; — every  drop  was  molten  hail.  It  was  the  very  brother 
of  ice.     At  a  mere  hint  of  winter,  it  would  change  to  ice  again  !     If 


THE   SACO   VALLEY  211 

the  crystal  nook  was  such  a  surprise  of  dehght  to  me,  what  niust  I 
have  been  to  it,  that  had,  perhaps,  never  been  invaded,  unless  by  the 
hp  of  a  moose,  or  by  the  lithe  and  spotted  form  of  sylvan  trout !  The 
drops  and  bubbles  ran  up  to  me  and  broke  about  my  neck  and  ran 
laughing  away,  frolicking  over  the  mossy  margin,  and  I  could  hear 
them  laughing  all  the  way  down  below.  Such  a  monster  had  never, 
perhaps,  taken  covert  in  the  pure,  pellucid  bowl  before  ! 

"  But  this  was  the  centre-part.  Not  less  memorable  was  the 
fringe.  The  trees  hung  in  the  air  on  either  side,  and  stretched  their 
green  leaves  for  a  roof  far  above.  The  birch  and  alder,  Avith  here 
and  there  a  silver  fir,  in  bush  form,  edged  the  rocks  on  either  side. 
As  you  looked  up  the  stream,  there  opened  an  ascending  avenue  of 
cascades,  dripping  rocks  bearded  with  moss,  crevices  filled  with  grass, 
or  dwarfed  shrubs,  until  the  whole  was  swallowed  up  in  the  leaves 
and  trees  far  above.  But  if  you  turned  down  the  stream,  then 
through  a  lane  of  richest  green,  stood  the  open  sky,  and,  lifted  up 
against  it,  thousands  of  feet.  Mount  Willard,  rocky  and  rent,  or  with 
but  here  and  there  a  remnant  of  evergreens,  sharp  and  ragged.  The 
sun  was  behind  it,  and  poured  against  its  farther  side  his  whole  tide 
of  light,  which  lapped  over  as  a  stream  dashes  over  its  bounds  and 
spills  its  waters  beyond.  So  it  stood  up  over  against  this  ocean  of 
atmospheric  gold,  banked  huge  and  rude  against  a  most  resplendent 
heaven  !  As  I  stood  donning  my  last  articles  of  raiment,  and  wring- 
ing my  over-wet  hair,  I  saw  a  trout  move  very  deliberately  out  from 
under  a  rock  by  which  I  had  lain,  and  walk  quietly  across  to  the 
other  side.  As  he  entered  the  crevice,  a  smaller  one  left  it  and  came 
as  demurely  across  to  his  rock.  It  was  evident  that  the  old  people 
had  sent  them  out  to  see  if  the  coast  was  clear,  and  whether  any 
damage  had  been  done.  Probably  it  was  thought  that  there  had  been 
a  slide  in  the  mountain,  and  that  a  huge  icicle  or  lump  of  snow  had 
plunged  into  their  pool  and  melted  away  there.  If  there  are  pisca- 
tory philosophers  below  water  half  as  wise  as  those  above,  this  would 
be  a  very  fair  theory  of  the  disturbance  to  which  their  mountain 
homestead  had  been  subjected.     As  I  had  eaten  of  their  salt,  of 


212  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

course  I  respected  the  laws  of  hospitality,  and  no  deceptive  fly  of 
mine  shall  ever  tempt  trout  in  a  brook  which  begets  pools  so  lovely, 
and  in  pools  that  yield  themselves  with  such  deHcious  embrace  to  the 
pleasures  of  a  mountain  bath." 

About  five  miles  from  the  Crawford  House,  driving  on  a  downward 
grade,  on  a  road  more  pleasantly  bordered  with  foliage,  perhaps,  than 
any  other  among  the  hills,  we  come  to  another  resting-place  for  trav- 
ellers, called  "  The  White  Mountain  House."  The  White  Mountain 
range  itself,  though  it  is  ascended  from  the  public-house  at  the  Notch, 
is  not  visible  from  that  point.  It  is  only  when  we  drive  out  into  the 
open  plain,  from  which  the  huge  mound  rises,  called  "  The  Giant's 
Grave,"  not  far  from  the  White  Mountain  House,  that  the  chain 
itself  comes  into  view.  Here  every  summit  but  one  is  in  sight,  and  a 
very  favorable  opportunity  is  afforded  for  observing  the  effects  of  the 
land-slides,  which  seem  to  have  plundered  the  lower  mountains  of  the 
range  of  a  large  proportion  of  their  substance,  and  have  left  traces  of 
ravage  in  fantastic  lines,  deeply  engraved  upon  their  thin  sides. 

The  distance,  in  a  straight  line  from  the  plain  at  the  foot  of  The 
Giant's  Grave  to  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  is  nearly  seven  miles 
and  a  half.  The  height  of  the  summit  over  this  level  area  is  less 
than  five  thousand  feet,  although  it  rises  more  than  six  thousand  two 
himdred  feet  above  the  sea.  A  very  noble  view  of  Mount  Washing- 
ton itself  is  gained  by  approaching  near  its  base  on  this  area,  and 
seeing  it  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  ridge. 

The  mighty  pyramids  of  stone, 
Tliat,  wedge-like,  cleave  the  desert  airs, 
When  nearer  seen  and  better  known, 
Are  but  gigantic  flights  of  stairs. 

The  distant  mountains,  that  uprear 
Their  solid  bastions  to  the  skies, 
Are  crossed  by  pathways,  that  appear 
As  we  to  higher  levels  rise. 

From  the  Notch,  the  ascent  of  Mount  Washington  is  made  by  mounting 
gradually  the  steps  of  Clinton,  Pleasant,  Franklin  and  Munroe, — each 


THE   SACO    VALLEY. 


213 


rising  higher  than  the  last,  and  all  of  them  destitute  of  trees, — which 
lead  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge.  From  the  White  Mountain  House 
there  is  a  carriage-road  on  which  visitors  are  carried  some  ways  up 
on  Mount  Washington  itself,  to  within  about  two  miles  of  the  summit. 
Here  horses  are  taken  for  the  remainder  of  the  ascent.  The  views, 
by  both  roads,  when  the  day  is  clear,  give  compensation  that  makes 
the  toil  a  trifle.  But  we  must  reserve  what  we  have  to  say  of  the 
views  which  the  summit  gives,  for  the  next  chapter,  and  we  have  no 
intention  of  assuming  to  decide  which  of  the  three  routes  by  which 
the  ascent  is  made  is  preferable. 


-^i*^s»'iv^< 


The  rambles  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  White  Mountain  House  are 
exceedingly  interesting.  There  are  many  hills  of  moderate  height 
which  may  be  scaled,  from  which  views  of  the  great  range  are  gained, 
that,  especially  towards  evening,  are  very  impressive  and  rich.  We 
must  remember  that  the  neighborhood  of  this  hotel  supplies  the  near- 


214  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

est  access  to  the  White  Mountain  range  on  the  western  side  ;  in  fact 
it  is  the  only  point  where,  from  the  level  of  the  road,  the  range  is 
even  visible,  after  we  leave  North  Conway. 

Then,  too,  the  falls  and  cliffs  of  the  Ammonoosuc  lie  not  far  from 
the  hotel.  This  river,  one  of  the  principal  feeders  of  the  Connecticut, 
is  undoubtedly  the  wildest  stream  in  New  England.  The  water,  which 
it  receives  from  the  cone  of  Mount  Washington,  and  from  the  Blue 
Ponds,  near  the  summit  of  Mount  Munroe,  dashes  down  the  mountain 
side,  often  in  leaps  of  thirty  to  forty  feet  at  a  time, — pours  over  the 
gray  granite  shelves  near  the  White  Mountain  House,  where,  after 
every  heavy  rain  the  water  is  tossed  into  heaps  as  high  as  haycocks, — 
catches  only  for  a  moment  the  deep  shadows  of  the  balsam  fir,  white 
pine,  and  spruce,  which  the  grand  cliffs  of  its  right  bank  throw  upon 
it,  and  will  not  stop  to  play  with  the  flickering  lights  and  shades  that 
dance  upon  its  ripples  through  the  birches  that  rustle  on  the  flat 
ledges  which  guard  it  on  the  left, — but  in  a  hurry  along  its  whole 
course  of  thirty  miles,  during  which  it  descends  over  five  thousand 
feet,  is  calmed  in  the  current  of  the  sober  Comiecticut  that  moves 
vnth  a  lordly  leisure  towards  the  sea. 

Fast  by  the  river's  trickling  source  I  sit, 

And  view  the  new-born  offspring  of  the  skies; 

Cradled  on  rocky  felt,  a  nursling  yet, 
Fed  by  his  mother-cloud's  soft  breast,  he  lies. 

But  lo!  the  heaven-born  streamlet  swelling  flows, 
Dreaming  e'en  now  of  fame,  the  woods  adown, 

And  as  his  bosom  heaves  with  longing  throes, 
His  wavelets  rock  the  mirrored  sun  and  moon. 

And  now  he  scorns  beneath  the  firs  to  creep. 
Or  hemmed  by  narrow  mountain  walls  to  flow. 

But  tumbles  headlong  down  the  rocky  steep, 
And  foams  along  the  pebbly  vale  below. 

"  Come  on!  come  on!  "  he  every  brookling  hails, 
"  Here  suns  exhaust  and  sands  absorb  your  force, 
Ye  brothers  come!  through  smiling  fields  and  dales 
I  lead  you  down  to  your  primeval  source." 


THE    SACO    VALLFA' 


216 


The  children  of  the  rain  obey,  and  hurl 

Applause,  as  they  the  young  adventurer  meet. 

With  kingly  pride  his  swelling  billows  curl. 
And  woods  and  rocks  fall  prostrate  at  his  feet. 

Now  to  the  plauis,  in  triumph  he  descends 

With  dark  blue  train  and  state  that  homage  claim; 

Parched  fields  his  breath  revives,  as  on  he  bends 
His  course,  baptizing  nations  with  his  name. 


And  bards  in  strain  divine  his  praises  sing, 
Tall  ships  are  on  his  bosom  borne  away, 

Proud  cities  court  him,  flowery  meadows  cling 
Around  his  knees  and  sue  him  to  delay. 

But  they  detain  him  not— with  ceaseless  haste 
Fair  fields  and  gilded  towns  he  hurries  by 

Nor  slacks  his  tide  impetuous,  till  at  last 
He  on  his  father's  bosom  falls  to  die. 


216  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

The  name  of  Crawford  is  associated  with  the  Giant's  Grave  and 
the  neighboring  meadow.  And  we  ought  not  to  leave  the  spot  un- 
til we  have  paid  respect  to  the  memory  of  the  early  settlers  of  the 
wilderness  which  is  upborne  on  the  flanks  of  the  White  Hills.  We 
can  now  breakfast  in  Boston,  and  reach  the  base  of  Mount  Washing- 
ton, on  the  eastern  or  the  western  side,  in  season  for  supper.  It  is  diffi- 
cult for  us  to  conceive  the  hardships  of  the  pioneei's  who,  seventy  or 
eighty  years  ago,  invaded  "  the  forest  primeval,"  and  determined  to 
wring  a  livelihood  from  lands  upon  which,  at  evening  or  morning,  the 
shadow  of  Mount  Washington  was  flung.  Whether  we  read  the 
accounts  of  the  first  settlers  in  Jackson,  Conway,  Bartlett,  Albany, 
Bethlehem  or  Shelburne,  the  stories  are  essentially  the  same.  The 
perils  of  isolation,  the  ravages  of  wild  beasts,  the  wrath  of  the  moun- 
tain torrents,  the  obstacles  to  intercourse  which  the  untamed  wilder- 
ness interposed, — every  form  of  discomfort  and  of  danger  was  visibly 
threatened  by  the  great  mountains  to  guard  their  immediate  slopes 
and  valleys  from  intrusion,  but  in  vain.  Whether  we  study  history 
on  a  large  or  a  small  scale,  we  find  that  the  movements  of  population, 
carrying  the  threads  of  civilization  to  new  districts,  new  climates,  and 
foreign  shores,  furnish  the  most  mystic  chapters  in  the  revelation  of 
an  Intellect  that  works  through  human  folly  as  through  human  wisdom 
for  generous  ends. 

When  there  was  so  much  land  within  the  bounds  of  civilization 
already  unoccupied  and  unclaimed,  what  could  have  induced  families 
eighty  years  ago,  to  move  from  a  great  distance  in  order  to  colonize  the 
banks  of  the  Ellis  River,  or  the  wild  borders  of  the  upper  Ammonoo- 
suc,  or  the  glen  through  which  above  North  Conway  the  Saco  rushes  ? 
The  very  horses  of  the  settlers  on  the  Bartlett  meadows,  in  1777, 
would  not  stay,  but  struck  over  the  hills  due  south,  in  the  direction 
of  Lee  from  wdiich  they  had  been  taken.  They  all  perished  in  the 
forest  before  the  succeeding  spring.  And  many  of  the  pioneers,  as 
if  to  taste  hardship  in  its  bitterest  flavor,  started  for  their  new  homes 
In  the  Avinter.  One  couple  travelled  eighty  miles  on  snow-shoes,  the 
Imsband  carrying  a  pack  of  furniture  on  his  back,  in  order  to  enjoj 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  217 

the  privilege  of  nearly  starving  in  Conway.  Joseph  Pinkham  and 
his  family  removed  to  Jackson  in  1790,  when  the  snow  was  five  feet 
deep  on  a  level.  Their  hand-sled,  on  which  their  provisions,  furniture, 
and  clothing  were  packed,  was  drawn  by  a  pig  which  they  compelled 
to  work  in  harness.  John  Pendexter  and  wife  made  a  triumphal  entry 
into  Bartlett  in  the  winter.  She  rode  a  large  part  of  the  way  from 
Portsmouth,  on  a  feeble  horse,  with  a  feather-bed  under  her  and  a 
child  in  her  arms,  while  the  husband  dragged  the  rest  of  their  worldly 
wealth  over  the  snow.  Their  child  was  cradled  in  a  sap-trough,  and 
became  the  mother  of  a  family,  "  all  of  whom  do  honor  to  their 
parentage." 

Several  of  the  earliest  settlers  lived  for  years  without  any  neigh- 
bors within  many  miles.  The  pioneer  in  the  village  of  Jackson 
was  obliged  to  go  ten  miles  to  a  mill,  and  would  carry  a  bushel  of 
corn  on  his  shoulder,  and  take  it  back  in  meal,  without  removing  the 
burden  during  the  whole  distance  ;  and  Ethan  Crawford  tells  us  that 
his  grandfather  went  once  to  a  lower  settlement  for  a  bushel  of  salt, 
the  scarcity  of  which  produced  a  great  deal  of  distress  and  sickness 
in  the  cabins  of  the  forest,  and  returned  with  it  on  his  back,  eighty 
miles  through  the  woods.  And  it  was  not  from  the  lack  of  salt  alone 
that  these  bold  people  suffered.  Not  all  the  families  scattered  along 
the  course  of  a  mountain  stream  owned  cows,  and  could  have  so  rich 
a  diet  as  milk-porridge.  Water  and  meal,  with  dried  trout  with- 
out salt,  were  their  dependence  when  game  Avas  shy,  or  long  storms 
prevented  hunting.  Sometimes  when  famine  threatened,  they  were 
obliged  to  send  deputations  thirty,  fifty,  sixty  miles  to  purchase  grain. 
And  wo  read  that  now  and  then,  in  times  of  great  scarcity,  the  most 
hardy  settlers  Avore  a  wide  strap  of  skin,  which,  as  they  grcAV  more 
emaciated  was  drawn  tighter,  to  mitigate  the  gnawings  of  hunger,  that 
they  might  hold  out  till  relief  came.  Often  we  are  told  the  buckle 
was  drawn  almost  to  the  last  hole.  In  the  early  history  of  Conway, 
wo  read  of  a  man  who  had  tightened  his  strap  thus,  and  was  lying 
down  thinking  that  he  should  never  rise  again.  A  neighbor,  almost  as 
weak,  and  who  did  not  own  a  gun  crept  to  his  door  to  say  that  a 


2]  8  iHE   WHITE   HILLS 

moose  was  not  far  from  the  cabin.  The  news  excited  the  famishing 
pioneer  so  that  he  was  able  to  cut  a  new  hole  in  the  strap  and  gird  it 
tighter.  He  then  crept  out  and  was  fortvmate  enough,  bj  resting 
the  gun,  to  kill  the  moose.  The  skeleton  men  soon  had  a  bountiful 
repast,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  read  the  assurance  that  before  thirty-six 
liours  their  straps  would  hardly  reach  round  them. 

Besides  occasional  famine,  these  families  were  tried  by  the  fresh- 
ets that  tore  up  their  rude  bridges,  swept  off  their  barns,  and  even 
floated  their  houses  on  the  meadows.  On  the  Saco  intervale,  in  the 
year  1800,  a  heavy  rain  swelled  the  river,  so  that  it  floated  every 
cabin  and  shed  that  had  been  built  on  it,  and  bore  them  quietly  down 
the  current,  "  the  cocks  crowing  merrily  as  they  floated  on."  Let 
us  be  grateful  for  this  note  of  cheer  in  the  story.  The  year  before 
this  the  few  settlers  in  Bethlehem  attempted  to  build  a  bridge  over 
the  Ammonoosuc.  The  laborers,  who  worked  all  day  in  the  water, 
had  nothing  to  eat  but  milk-porridge,  which  was  carried  to  them  hot 
by  their  Avives.  At  last  they  were  obliged  to  cut  and  burn  wood 
enough  in  the  forest  to  make  a  large  load  of  potash,  which  they  sent 
to  Concord,  Mass.,  a  distance  of  a  hundred  seventy  miles,  to  be  bar- 
tered for  provisions.  The  teamster  was  absent  four  weeks,  and  dur- 
ing part  of  this  time  the  settlers  cooked  green  chocolate  roots  and  a 
few  other  wild  plants,  to  save  them  from  starvation. 

When  the  settlers  accumulated  anything  worth  stealing  which  the 
mountains  could  not  destroy  by  natural  ravage,  the  bears  were  un- 
loosed upon  them.  If  nuts  and  berries  failed,  and  there  Avas  a 
famine  in  the  Avoods,  down  came  an  irruption  of  black  barbarians 
upon  the  cattle,  especially  upon  the  pigs.  Often  a  huge  bear  would 
make  his  appearance  near  a  settler's  house,  steal  a  good-sized  pig 
with  his  forepaws,  and  run  off  with  him,  eating  as  he  ran.  And 
sometimes  the  personal  contests  of  the  squatters  with  these  aboriginal 
tenants,  would  be  such  as  are  decidedly  more  pleasant  in  history  than 
in  experience.  What  a  charming  surprise,  for  instance,  to  an  early 
settler  under  Chocoi'ua,  when  he  ascended  a  hill  near  his  cabin,  on  a 
very  dark  night,  and  came  suddenly  into  the  embrace,  more  Avarm 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  219 

than  friendly,  of  a  big  bear  that  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  top 
Then  commenced  a  AvrestUng-match  which  it  is  deUnrhtful  to  contem 
plate.  The  bear  was  an  adept  in  hugging,  but  the  man  understood 
the  art  of  tripping,  and  by  a  dexterous  movement  threw  the  bear 
from  her  feet.  The  two  rolled  down  the  hill  in  the  darkness,  over 
and  over,  and  tumbled  into  a  pond  at  the  foot.  Here  the  bear  let 
go,  and  both,  crawling  wet  out  of  the  water,  were  content  to  consider 
it  a  drawn  battle,  and  retired  to  their  respective  places  of  abode. 

The  first  things,  of  course,  which  the  settlers  did  when  a  dozen 
famihes  had  collected  within  the  compass  of  a  few  miles,  were  to 
organize  a  church,  and  establish  a  school.  By  the  time  two  dozen 
families  were  gathered  in  a  valley,  it  was  almost  certain  that  a  second 
church  of  a  different  sect  would  be  started.  Ministers  toiled  all  the 
week  on  their  meadow  or  wood-lot,  and,  if  they  did  not  preach  with- 
out notes,  wrote  their  sermons  at  night  by  the  blaze  of  pitch-knots. 
The  school-house  was  built  of  rough  hemlock  logs,  covered  with  rude 
boards  and  the  bark  of  trees,  and  was  lighted  by  two  or  three  panes 
of  glass  placed  singly  in  its  wall.  "  The  something  that  answered  for 
a  fireplace  and  chimney  was  constructed  of  poor  bricks  and  rocks, 
together  with  sticks,  laid  up  so  as  to  form  what  was  called  a  '  cat- 
ting,' to  guide  the  smoke."  And  to  this  cabm  the  scholars  went  in 
paths  cut  through  the  thick  forests.  Yet  in  many  an  instance  the 
passion  for  learning  was  kindled  within  these  rude  hovels  as  intensely 
as  it  has  ever  been  in  the  most  shapely  academy.  A  son  of  one  of 
these  pioneers,  now  a  clergyman,  who  attended  such  a  school,  assures 
us  that  many  an  excited  contest  in  spelling  and  ciphering  took  place 
within  its  walls,  and  that  "  many  tears  have  been  shed,  and  bursts  of 
applause  shaken  the  very  bark  on  its  roof  at  the  successful  perform- 
ance of  the  '  Conjuror'  and  'Neighbor  Scrapewell.' "  Such  rough 
churches,  and  wigwam  schools,  have  been  "the  cell-germs  from  which 
the  organizing  power  of  civilization  in  our  cold  north  has  poured.. 

From  one  of  these  "  locations,"  or  "  grants,"  the  story  runs  that 
a  man  once  made  his  appearance  in  the  State  Legislature,  and  took 
a  seat.     He  was  asked  for  proof  that  he  was  the  choice  of  the  people. 


220  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

"  Whom  could  they  put  up  against  me  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  I  am  the  only 
man  in  my  town."  His  claim  to  a  seat  was  allowed.  There  must 
have  been  a  few  more  inhabitants  in  the  settlement  in  upper  Coos 
which  was  legally  warned  to  have  training.  After  the  officers  were 
chosen,  there  Avas  but  one  soldier.  And  he  said,  "  Gentlemen,  I 
hope  you  will  not  be  too  severe  in  drilling  me,  as  I  may  be  needed 
another  time.  I  can  form  a  solid  column,  but  it  will  rack  me  shock- 
ingly to  display." 

The  hardsliips  of  which  we  have  been  writing  are  forcibly  sug- 
gested at  the  Giant's  Grave.  Abel  Crawford  lived  in  a  log  hut 
on  that  mound  some  months,  alone.  But  in  1792.  the  E^sebrook 
family  moved  into  it  when  it  was  buried  in  snow,  so  that  the  entrance 
to  it  could  be  found  with  difficulty.  For  six  weeks  neither  the  sun, 
nor  the  heat  from  the  cabin,  would  make  a  drop  of  water  fall  from  the 
eaves.  During  the  whole  winter  they  were  dependent  upon  the  game 
they  could  catch,  and  often,  from  fear  that  the  father  might  return 
empty,  the  children  would  be  sent  down  through  the  Notch  tAvelve 
miles,  to  Abel  CraAvford's,  to  obtain  something  for  sustenance.  Good 
Mrs.  Rqsebrook  often  lay  awake  late  in  the  night,  Avaiting  anxiously 
for  the  children's  return  through  the  snoAVS  and  Avinds  of  the  aAvful 
Notch,  and  Avhen  they  arrived  Avould  "  pour  out  her  love  in  prayer  and 
thankfulness  to  her  heavenly  Father,  for  preserving  them,  and  that 
she  Avas  permitted  to  receive  them  again  to  her  humble  mansion." 

Abel  CraAvford,  in  his  old  age,  Avas  never  tired  of  telling  stories 
of  the  hardships  and  adventures  of  the  pioneers.  He  Avas  well 
named  the  '•  veteran  pilot "  of  the  hills ;  for  he  Avas  the  first  guide 
that  introduced  visitors  to  the  grandeur  of  the  scenery  so  easily 
reached  now,  and  he  saAv  the  gradual  process  of  civilization  applied 
to  the  wilderness  between  Bethlehem  and  Upper  Bartlett.  When  he 
was  about  tAventy-five  years  old,  he  Avandered  through  the  region 
alone  for  months,  dressed  in  tanned  mooseskin,  lord  of  the 

Cradle,  hunting-ground,  and  bier 
Of  wolf  and  otter,  bear  and  deer. 


THE    SACO    VALLEY. 


221 


He  assisted  in  cutting  the  first  footpath  to  the  ridge,  and  at 
Beventy-five,  in  the  year  1840,  he  rode  the  first  horse  that  climbed 
the  cone  of  Mount  Washington.  During  the  last  ten  vears  of  hia 
life  he  was  a  noble  object  of  interest  to  thousands  of  visitors  from  all 
parts  of  the  United  States,  for  whom  the  whole  tour  of  the  hills  had 
been  smoothed  into  a  pastime  and  luxury.     He  died  at  eighty-five. 


He  had  been  so  long  accustomed  to  greet  travellers  in  the  summer, 
that  he  longed  to  have  his  life  spared  till  the  visitors  made  their 
appearance  in  Bartlett,  on  their  way  to  the  Notch.  He  used  to  sit 
in  the  warm  spring  days,  supported  by  his  daughter,  his  snow-white 
hair  falling  to  his  shoulders,  waiting  for  the  first  ripple  of  that  large 

31 


222  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

tide  which  he  had  seen  increasing  in  volume  for  twenty  years.  Not 
long  after  the  stages  began  to  carry  their  summer  freight  by  his 
door,  he  passed  away.  We  have  a  very  pleasant  recollection  of 
the  venerable  appearance  of  the  patriarch  in  front  of  his  house 
under  Mount  Crawford,  in  the  year  1849,  when  we  made  our  first 
visit  to  the  White  Hills.  A  large  bear  was  chained  to  a  pole  near 
the  house,  and  the  stage  load  of  people  had  gathered  around,  equally 
interested  in  seeing  a  specimen  of  the  first  settlers  and  of  the  aborig- 
inal tenants  of  the  wilderness.  The  old  man  handed  the  writer  a 
biscuit,  and  said :  "  Give  it  to  t\e  beast,  young  man,  and  then  tell 
when  you  go  back  to  Boston,  that  a  bear  ate  out  of  your  hand  up  in 
these  mountains."  The  difference  between  an  experience  in  the 
mountain  region,  as  our  party  were  then  enjoying  it  for  a  week,  and 
his  early  acquaintance  with  its  hardships  and  solitude,  was  the  differ- 
ence between  feeding  a  fettered  bear  with  a  biscuit,  and  wrestling  in 
a  tight  hug  with  a  hungry  one  alone  in  the  forest. 

In  1803  the  first  rude  public-house  for  straggling  visitors  to  the 
White  Mountains,  was  erected  on  the  Giant's  Grave  itself.  And  in 
1819  the  first  rough  path  was  cut  through  the  forest  on  the  side  of 
the  Mount  Washington  range  to  the  rocky  ridge.  Ethan  Allen 
Crawford,  who  lived  on  the  Giant's  Grave,  marked  and  cleared  this 
path  in  connection  Avith  Abel  Crawford,  his  father,  who  was  living 
eight  miles  below  the  Notch.  A  few  years  after,  Ethan  spotted  and 
trunmed  a  footpath  on  the  side  of  Mount  Washington  itself,  along 
essentially  the  same  route  by  which  carriages  are  driven  now  from 
the  White  Mountain  House  to  the  Cold  Spring.  And  it  ought  not  to 
be  forgotten  that  it  was  by  Ethan  Crawford,  that  the  first  protection 
for  visitors  was  built  under  the  cone  of  Mount  Washington.  It  was 
i  a  stone  hut,  furnished  with  a  small  stove,  an  iron  chest,  a  roll  of  sheet 
lead,  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  soft  moss  and  hemlock  boughs  for 
bedding.  The  lead  was  the  cabin-register  on  which  visitors  left  their 
names  engraved  by  a  piece  of  sharp  iron.  Every  particle  of  this 
camp  and  all  the  furniture,  was  swept  off  on  the  night  of  the  storm 
by  which  the  Willey  family  were  overwhelmed. 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  223 

Noble  Ethan  Crawford  !  Ave  must  pause  a  few  moments  before  the 
career  of  this  stalwart  Jotun  of  the  mountains,  in  the  storj  of  whose 
fortunes  the  savageness  and  hardships  of  the  wilderness  and  the 
heroic  qualities  they  nurse  are  shown  in  one  picture.  He  was  bom 
in  1792.  His  early  childhood  was  passed  in  a  log  hut  a  few  miles 
from  the  Notch  ;  and  in  his  manhood,  after  a  fire  in  1818  had  burned 
the  comfortable  house  on  the  Giant's  Grave,  he  lived  again  in  a  log 
house  with  but  one  apartment  and  no  Avindows.  In  1819,  he  had 
built  a  rough  house  of  a  larger  size,  Avith  a  stone  chimney,  in  ay  Inch 
during  the  cold  spells  of  winter,  more  than  a  cord  of  Avood  Avould  be 
burned  in  tAventy-four  hours.  He  tells  us  that  he  never  OAvned  a  hat, 
mittens,  or  shoes  until  he  was  thirteen  years  old  ;  yet  could  harness 
and  unharness  horses  in  the  biting  winter  Aveather  Avith  bare  head, 
hands,  and  feet,  "  and  not  mind,  or  complain  of  the  cold,  as  I  Ava3 
used  to  it."  As  to  Avhat  is  called  comfort  in  the  loAvlands,  he  found 
that 

Naught  the  mountain  yields  thereof, 
But  savage  health  and  sinews  tough. 

He  groAV  to  be  nearly  seven  feet  in  height,  and  rejoiced  in  a 
strength  Avhich  he  Avould  show  in  lifting  five  hundred  Aveight  into  a 
boat ;  in  dragging  a  bear  that  he  had  muzzled  to  his  house,  that  he 
might  be  tamed  ;  or  in  carrying  a  buck  home  alive,  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. What  a  flavor  of  wild  mountain  life,  Avhat  vivid  suggestions 
of  the  closest  tug  of  man  Avith  nature, —of  raw  courage  and  muscle 
against  frost  and  gale,  granite  and  savageness,  do  Ave  find  in  his  ad- 
ventures and  exploits  ; — his  leaping  from  a  load  of  hay  in  the  Notch 
when  a  furious  gust  made  it  topple,  and  catching  it  on  his  shoulder 
to  prevent  it  from  falling  over  a  precipice  ;  his  breaking  out  the 
road,  for  miles,  through  the  wild  Avinter  drifts  ;  his  carrying  the  mail 
on  his  back,  after  freshets,  to  the  next  settlement,  Avhen  a  horse  could 
not  cross  the  streams  ;  his  climbings  of  Mount  Washington  with  a 
party  of  adventurers,  laden  like  a  pack-horse,  Avithout  suffering  more 
fatigue  than  ordinary  men  would  feel  after  a  level  Avalk  of  ten  miles  ; 
tis  returns  from  the  summit  bearing  some  exhausted  member  of  a 

31* 


224  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

party  on  his  back  ;  his  long,  lonely  tramps,  on  snow-shoes,  after 
moose,  and  his  successful  shooting  of  a  pair  of  the  noble  beasts,  two 
miles  back  of  the  Notch,  about  dark,  and  sleeping  through  the  cold 
night  in  their  warm  skins,  undismayed  by  the  wolf  howls  that  sere- 
naded him  ! 

The  tribe  of  bears  in  a  circumference  of  twenty  miles  knew  him 
well.  Many  a  den  he  made  desolate  of  its  cubs  by  shaking  them, 
like  apples,  from  trees  into  which  they  would  run  to  escape  him  ;  then 
tying  his  hankerchief  around  their  mouths  he  would  take  them  home 
under  his  arm  to  tame  them.  Many  a  wrestle  did  he  have  with  full 
grown  ones  Avho  would  get  their  feet  in  his  traps.  Scarcely  a  week 
passed  while  he  lived  among  the  mountains  which  was  not  marked  by 
some  encounter  with  a  bear. 

With  the  -wolves  also,  he  carried  on  a  war  of  years.  So  long  as  he 
kept  sheep  he  could  not  frighten  the  wolves  into  cessation  of  hostili- 
ties. The  marauders  showed  the  skill  of  a  surgeon  in  their  rapine 
and  slaughter.  Ethan  found,  now  and  then,  a  sheepskin  a  few  rods 
from  his  house  with  no  mark  upon  it  except  a  smooth  slit  from  the 
throat  to  the  fore  legs,  as  though  it  had  been  cut  with  a  knife.  The 
legs  had  been  taken  oif  as  far  as  the  lowest  joint ;  all  the  flesh  had 
been  eaten  out  clean,  and  only  the  head  and  backbone  had  been  left 
attached  to  the  pelt.  When  the  feat  was  accomplished,  the  wolves 
would  give  him  notice  by  a  joint  howl,  Avhich  the  Washington  range 
would  echo  from  their  "  bleak  concave,"  so  that  all  the  woods  seemed 
filled  with  packs  of  the  fierce  pirates.  Once  in  a  December  night 
four  wolves  made  a  descent  upon  his  sheep,  which  fled  among  the 
carriages  near  the  house,  for  safety.  Ethan  went  out  in.  his  night- 
dress and  faced  them  in  the  bright  moonlight.  He  had  no  weapon, 
and  so  they  rose  on  their  haunches  to  hear  what  he  might  have  to 
say.  He  harangued  them,  to  little  purpose  for  some  time,  and  at 
last  "  observed  to  them  that  they  had  better  make  off"  with  them- 
selves," with  the  intimation  that  an  axe  or  gun  would  be  soon 
forthcoming.  They  then  turned  about  and  marched  away,  "  giving 
QS  some  of  their  lonesome  music."     But  Ethan  found,  the  next 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  225 

morning,  that  they  had  enjoyed  his  hospitahty,  by  digging  up  carcasses 
of  bears  back  of  the  stable,  and  gnawing  them  close  to  the  bone. 

He  thinned  the  sables  from  the  region  by  his  traps.  The  banks 
of  the  neighboring  brooks  he  depopulated  of  otters.  Yet  he  had 
an  affection  for  all  the  creatures  of  the  wilderness,  and  loved  to  have 
young  wolves,  and  tame  bucks,  and  well-behaved  bears,  and  domesti- 
cated sable,  around  his  premises  :  while  the  collecting  of  rare  alpine 
plants  from  the  snowy  edges  of  the  ravines  on  the  ridge,  where  Na- 
ture had  "  put  them  according  to  their  merits,"  was  "  a  beautiful 
employment,  which  I  always  engaged  in  with  much  pleasure."  But 
his  most  remarkable  adventures  were  his  contests  with  the  Avild-cats, 
the  fiercest  animals  which  the  mountains  harbored.  The  hills  that 
slope  towards  the  Ammonoosuc  were  cleared  by  him  of  these  furious 
freebooters,  that  made  great  havoc  with  his  geese  and  sheep.  His 
greatest  exploit  was  his  capture  of  one  of  these  creatures  in  a  tree 
within  the  Notch,  by  a  lasso  made  of  birch  sticks,  which  he  twisted 
on  the  spot.  He  slipped  it  over  the  mid-cat's  neck,  and  jerked  the 
animal  down  ten  feet.  The  noose  broke.  He  repaired  it  instantly, 
fastened  it  once  more  around  the  creature's  head,  pulled  him  down 
■within  reach,  and  after  a  severe  battle,  killed  him.  He  seems  to 
have  possessed  a  magic  fetter,  like  that  which  the  dark  elves  of 
the  Scandinavian  myths  wove  to  bind  the  wolf  Fenrir,  and  which 
was  plaited  of  six  things  into  a  cord  smooth  and  soft  as  a  silken 
string :  the  beards  of  women,  the  noise  of  a  cat's  footfall,  the  roots 
of  stones,  the  sinews  of  bears,  the  spittle  of  birds,  and  the  breath  of 
fish. 

What  extremes  in  Ethan's  experience  !  He  entertained  many  of 
the  wisest  and  most  distinguished  of  the  country  under  his  rude  roof, 
and  was  gratefully  remembered  for  his  hospitality,  and  his  faithful 
service  in  guiding  them  to  the  great  ridge.  He  would  come  home 
from  a  bear-fight,  to  find  in  his  house,  perhaps,  "  a  member  of  Con- 
gress, Daniel  Webster,"  who  desired  his  assistance  on  foot  to  the 
summit  of  Mount  Washington.  There  was  a  couple  whose  talk  would 
have  been  worth  hearing  !     Ethan  says  that  they  went  up  "  without 


226  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

meeting  anything  worthy  of  note,  more  than  was  common  for  me  to 
find,  hut  io  1dm  thiiif/s  appeared  interesting.  And  when  wc  arrived 
there,  he  addressed  himself  in  this  way,  saying :  '  Mount  Washing- 
ton, I  have  come  a  long  distance,  and  have  toiled  hard  to  arrive  at 
your  summit,  and  now  you  give  me  a  cold  reception.  I  am  ex- 
tremely sorry,  that  I  shall  not  have  time  enough  to  view  this  grand 
prospect  which  lies  before  me,  and  nothing  prevents  but  the  uncom- 
fortable atmosphere  in  which  you  reside.'  "  How  accurately  Ethan 
reported  the  address,  we  cannot  certify ;  but  as  the  rostru!n  was  the 
grandest,  and  the  audience  the  smallest,  which  was  ever  honored 
with  a  formal  speech  by  the  great  orator,  the  picture  should  not  be 
lost.  The  snow  from  a  sudden  squall  froze  upon  the  pair  as  they 
descended  the  cone.  The  statesman  was  evidently  interested  in  his 
guide,  for  Ethan  says  that,  "  the  next  morning,  after  paying  his  bill, 
he  made  me  a  handsome  present  of  twenty  dollars." 

And  Ethan's  life  was  perpetually  set  in  remarkable  contrasts. 
From  struggles  with  wild-cats  in  the  forests  of  Cherry  Mountain,  to 
the  society  of  his  patient,  faithful,  pious  wife,  was  a  distance  as  wide 
as  can  be  indicated  on  the  planet.  Mount  Washington  looked  down 
into  his  uncouth  domicile,  and  saw  there 

Sparta's  stoutness,  Bethlehem's  heart. 

Lucy  taught  him  how  to  meet  calamity  without  despair  and  repining. 
When  his  house  burned  down,  and  left  him  with  no  property  but  one 
new  cheese  and  the  milk  of  the  cows,  his  wife,  though  sick,  was  not 
despondent.  When  his  debts,  caused  by  this  fire,  pressed  heavy, 
and  he  staggered  under  difficulties  as  he  never  did  under  the  heavi- 
est load  in  the  forest,  she  assured  him  that  Providence  had  some 
wise  purpose  in  their  trouble.  When  his  crops  were  swept  off",  and 
his  meadows  filled  with  sand  by  freshets,  Lucy's  courage  was  not 
crushed.  He  knocked  down  a  swaggering  bully,  once,  on  a  muster- 
field  in  Lancaster,  and  was  obliged  to  promise  Lucy  that  he  would 
nevei'  give  way  to  an  angry  passion  again.  When  death  invaded 
their  household,  and  his  own  powerful  frame  was  so  shaken  by  dis- 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  227 

ease  and  pain,  tliat  a  flash  of  lightning,  as  he  said,  seemed  to  run 
from  his  spine  to  the  ends  of  his  hair,  his  mfe's  reUgious  patience 
and  trust  proved  an  undrainable  cordiah  And  after  he  became 
weakened  bj  sickness,  if  he  staid  out  long  after  dark,  Lucy  would 
take  a  lantern  and  go  into  the  woods  to  search  for  him.  He  was  put 
into  jail  at  last  in  Lancaster  for  debt.  Lucy  wrote  a  pleading  letter 
to  his  chief  creditor  to  release  him,  but  without  effect.  This,  says 
Ethan,  "  forced  me,  in  the  jail,  to  reflect  on  human  nature,  and  it 
overcame  me,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  call  for  the  advice  of  phy- 
sicians and  a  nurse."  Other  forms  of  adversity,  too,  beset  him, — 
opposition  to  his  public-house  when  travellers  became  more  plentiful, 
which  destroyed  his  prospects  of  profit ;  the  breaking  of  a  bargain 
for  the  sale  of  his  lands  ;  foul  defamation  of  his  character  to  the  post- 
office  authorities  in  Washington,  from  whom  he  held  an  appointment. 
Broken  in  health,  oppressed  by  pecuniary  burdens,  and  with  shat- 
tered spirits,  he  left  the  plateau  at  the  base  of  INIount  Washington 
for  a  more  pleasant  home  in  Vermont,  accompanied  by  Lucy,  whose 
faith  did  not  allow  her  to  murmur.  But  he  experienced  hard  fortune 
there,  too,  and  returned  to  die,  within  sight  of  the  range,  an  old 
man,  before  he  had  reached  the  age  of  fifty-six  years. 

Since  the  breaking  up  of  his  home  on  the  Giant's  Grave,  the 
mountains  have  heard  no  music  which  they  have  echoed  so  heartily 
as  the  windings  of  his  horn,  and  the  roar  of  the  cannon  which  he 
used  to  load  to  the  muzzle,  that  his  guests  might  hear  a  park  of 
artillery  reply.  Few  men  that  have  ever  visited  the  mountains  have 
done  more  faithful  work  or  borne  so  much  adversity  and  sufiering. 
The  cutting  of  his  heel-cord  with  an  axe,  when  he  was  chopping  out 
the  first  path  up  Mount  Washington,  was  a  type  of  the  result  to  him- 
self of  his  years  of  toil  in  the  wilderness  ;  and  his  own  quaint  reflec- 
tion on  that  wound,  which  inflicted  lameness  upon  him  for  months,  is 
the  most  appropriate  inscription,  after  the  simple  words,  "  an  honest 
man,"  that  could  be  reared  over  his  grave  :  "  So  it  is  that  men 
suffer  various  ways  in  advancing  civilization,  and  through  God,  man- 
kind are  indebted  to  the  labors  of  men  in  many  different  spheres  of 


228  THE   WHITE    HILLS. 

life."     And  does  he  not  have  part  in  this  general  eulogy  by  Mr. 
Emerson  ? 

Many  hamlets  sought  I  then, 

Many  farms  of  mountain  men; 

Found  I  not  a  minstrel  seed, 

But  men  of  bone,  and  good  at  need. 

Rallying  round  a  parish  steeple 

Nestle  warm  the  highland  people, 

Coarse  and  boisterous,  yet  mild, 

Strong  as  giant,  slow  as  child. 

Smoking  in  a  squalid  room 

Where  yet  the  westland  breezes  come. 

Close  hid  in  those  rough  guises  lurk 

Western  magians, — here  they  work. 

Sweat  and  season  are  their  arts. 

Their  talismans  are  ploughs  and  carts; 

And  well  the  youngest  can  command 

Honey  from  the  frozen  land; 

With  sweet  ha}^  the  wild  swamp  adorn, 

Change  the  running  sand  to  corn; 

For  wolves  and  foxes,  lowing  herds, 

And  for  cold  mosses,  cream  and  curds; 

Weave  wood  to  canisters  and  mats; 

Drain  sweet  maple  juice  in  vats. 

No  bird  is  safe  that  cuts  the  air 

From  their  rifle  or  their  snare; 

No  fish,  in  river  or  in  lake. 

But  their  long  hands  it  thence  will  take; 

And  the  country's  flinty  face. 

Like  wax,  their  fashioning  skill  betrays. 

To  fill  the  hollows,  sink  the  hills, 

Bridge  gulfs,  drain  swamps,  build  dams  and  mills, 

And  fit  the  bleak  and  howling  place 

For  gardens  of  a  finer  race. 

There  is  a  tradition  that  an  Indian  maniac  once  stood  on  th« 

Giant's  Grave,  and  swinging  a  blazing  pitch-pine  torch,  which  he 

had  kindled  at  a  tree  struck  by  lightning,  shouted  in  the  storm  the 

prophecy, — 

The  Great  Spirit  whispered  in  my  ear 
No  pale-face  shall  take  deep  root  here. 

Fabyan's  large  hotel,  built  at  the  foot  of  the  Giant's  Grave,  has  been 

,  burned  to  the  ground.     Two  public-houses  on  the  mound  itself  have 

been  destroyed ;  the  meadow  has  been  ravaged  by  freshets  ;   and 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  229 

two  hotels  at  the  gate  of  the  Notch  have  also  been  consumed  hy  fire. 
Were  these  fires  kindled  by  sparks  from  the  duskj  prophet's  torch  ? 
We  are  happy  that  Ave  can  leave  this  question  with  those  of  our 
readers  who  love  the  atmosphere  of  wild  traditions  around  mountains, 
better  than  the  evening  light  that  glows  on  their  tops,  or  the  rare 
flowers  and  plants  that  chmb  their  ravines. 

And  we  must  not  forget  to  speak  of  the  range,  before  we  lose  sight 
of  it  here,  as  a  soaring  garden  of  plants,  a  vast  conservatory  of  Flora. 
We  are  told  that  the  distinct  zones  of  vegetation  on  this  range  are 
scarcely  surpassed  on  the  flanks  of  Mount  Etna  or  the  Pyrenees. 
Mount  Washington  is  a  gigantic  thermometer  of  botanic  life,  and  the 
creative  forces,  enfeebled  as  they  ascend  towards  the  zero  of  perpet- 
ual snow,  pass  by  degrees  entirely  out  of  the  temperate  lines,  and 
indicate  by  plant,  Hchen,  or  moss,  the  levels  of  Lapland,  Siberia,  and 
Labrador. 

But  let  us  not  anticipate  any  of  the  valuable  details  of  the  chap- 
ter on  the  vegetation  of  the  mountains  from  a  thoroughly  competent 
hand,  with  which  we  are  able  to  enrich  this  volume.  Prof.  Ed- 
ward Tuckerman,  of  Amherst  College,  has  been  for  many  years  a 
lover  of  the  scenery,  an  explorer  of  the  wildest  glens  and  gorges,  and 
a  student  of  the  botanic  riches  of  the  Mount  Washington  range.  Mr. 
Emerson's  description  of  a  forest  seer  may  be  well  applied  to  him. 

A  lover  true,  who  knew  by  heart 
Each  joy  the  mountain  dales  impart; 
It  seemed  that  Natui-e  could  not  raise 
A  plant  in  any  secret  place, 
In  quaking  bog,  or  snowy  hill, 
Beneath  the  grass  that  shades  the  rill, 
Under  the  snow,  between  the  rocks, 
In  damp  fields  known  to  bird  and  fox. 
But  he  would  come  in  the  very  hour 
It  opened  in  its  virgin  bower. 
As  if  a  sunbeam  showed  the  place, 
And  tell  its  long  descended  race. 

The  chapter  which  follows  has  been  prepared  by  Prof.  Tuckerman 
for  these  pages.  32 


230  THE  WHITE  HILLS. 


.  THE    VEGETATION   OF   THE   WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  predominant  Life  in  mountains  is  always  Vegetable  Life. 
This,  in  itself,  or  in  its  manifold  bearings  on  the  landscape,  is  sure  to 
be  beheld  and  felt, — and  studied,  too,  by  those  who  seek  the  inner 
truth  of  the  outward, — 

Unfolded  still  the  more,  more  visible, 
The  more  we  know. 

In  the  higher,  alpine  tracts,  there  is  little  beside  this.  A  hare, 
two  or  three  birds,  and  a  very  few  insects,  are  all  the  animals  as  yet 
certainly  known  to  inliabit  the  highest  region  of  the  AVhite  Hills.* 
But  that  region  is  furnished  with  a  peculiar  and  interesting  vegeta- 
tion ;  and  the  relations  of  this  vegetation  to  that  of  the  lower  parts  of 
the  mountains,  and  of  the  low  country,  may  first  occupy,  very  briefly, 
our  attention. 

No  one  can  observe  carefully  the  plants  of  a  high  mountain,  with- 
out seeing  that  those  Avhich  occur  in  the  higher  parts  are,  to  a  con- 
siderable degree,  diiferent  from  those  at  the  foot ;  and  still  further 
that  this  diiference  presents  itself,  with  more  or  less  evident  distinct- 
ness, as  a  series  of  zones,  each  with  vegetable  features  of  its  own. 
And  these  distinct  zones  of  vegetation  on  mountains  have  been  found 
by  botanists  to  correspond  with  a  like  succession  in  the  low  country, 
one  set  of  plants  being  followed  here,  in  like  manner,  by  another,  as 
we  go  northward,  and  that  which  characterizes  the  highest  mountain 

\  *"  Fourteen  species  of  insects  "  were  caught  by  Dr.  J.  W.  Robbins  on  the  summit  of 
Mount  Adams,  nnd  some  water  insects  in  the  little  alpine  lake  under  the  peak,  towards 
Mount  Madison.  And  he  saw  on  the  summit  a  small  quadruped,  "  probably  a  mouse," 
(MS.  journal.)  Gray  squirrels  have  more  than  once  been  seen  on  the  rocky  summit  of 
Mount  Washington.  Several  butterflies,  two  of  them  of  much  rarity,  occur,  about  tlu 
1  ipperregions. 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  231 

region,  below  perpetual  snow,  occurring  again  m  the  low  country, 
as  soon  as  we  reach  a  sufficiently  northern  latitude.  It  is  thus  that 
an  alp  may  offer  a  reduced,  but  on  that  very  account  more  easilj' 
estimated  picture  of  a  number  of  differing  (perhaps  vast)  districts 
of  vegetable  life,  or  be  compared,  as  it  is  by  Mr.  A.  De  CandoUe,  to 
a  series  of  degrees  of  latitude  condensed  ;  in  which  the  same  phe- 
nomena which  are  dilated,  so  to  say,  in  the  plain  c^^untry  over 
hundreds  of  leagues,  are  compressed  within  certain  hundreds  of 
yards.*  The  study  of  these  remarkable  conditions  of  plant  life  has 
been  pursued  with  much  attention  in  Europe,  and  has  furnished,  or  at 
least  suggested,  a  large  part  of  the  most  important  knowledge  that  we 
have,  of  Botanical  Geography ;  but  the  limitation  of  the  region  has 
complicated  as  w^ell  as  facilitated  inquiry,  and  a  great  deal,  therefore, 
still  remains  to  be  done,  even  where  the  questions  at  issue  have  been 
longest  considered.! 

Here,  the  succession  of  zones  was  observed  by  Cutler  in  1784,  and 
its  more  general  features  stated  at  length  by  Bigeiow  in  1816  ; — 
but  an  approximate  determination  of  the  superior  and  inferior  limits 
of  species  has  yet  to  be  accomplished.:}:  and  will  doubtless  require,  as 
it  will  reward,  the  observation  of  many  years. 

The  immediate  base  of  the  highest  group  of  the  White  Mountains 
has  an  elevation  at  the  Giant's  Grave,  on  the  west  side,  and  at  the 
Glen  House,  on  the  east,  of  about  sixteen  hundred  feet.  This  height 
increases,  as  we  approach  the  base  of  Mount  Clinton,  at  the  gate  of 
the  Notch,  where  it  exceeds  eighteen  hundred  feet,  and  probably  falls 
off  on  the  north  side.  Many  trees,  and  other  plants,  are  thus  exclu- 
ded.    The  linden  appears  only  as  a  very  rare  (possibly  introduced) 


*  A.  De  Caiul.  Geogr.  Bot.  I.  p.  249.  t  3  Ibid. 

I  Even  in  F.iirope  tliese  limits  have  been  Well  verified  as  yet,  in  only  a  very  small  num- 
ber of  species.  Ibid.  I.  p.  208.  It  is  evident  that  the  above  remarks  apply  only  to  moun- 
tains of  a  certain  height;  and  that  mountains  in  warmer  latitudes  must  be  proportionally 
higher,  to  exhibit  the  interesting  phenomena  of  wiiioh  mention  has  been  made.  The  few 
iiundrcd  feet  bj'  which  the  highest  summits  of  the  Carolina  mountains  surpass  MonnI 
Washington,  are  far  from  sufficient  to  give  them  the  same  importance  ir.  Botanical  Geoc:- 
i-aphy. 


282 


rill';  wiiMi;  mills, 


trOd  oil  111!"  wiirm  liiiinl  I.iikIm  oI"  Mniiiil.  (  Viiw  IhimI.  'I'Iic  iiiim;icliM  .'ire 
winirm^  Tilt'  villi"  iM  iiiiKiiowii,  iiM  uw  llio  ImwIlntniM,  niid  llin  Ciui- 
ttdii.  |iliiiii.  'riicri'  \H  no  MiiMMnlniM  ;  nor  nli|i|)(ify  (ilni  ;  nor  Imcklxirry  ; 
nor  liiilloiiwoiiil  ;  nor  liiclvoi-y  ;  luid  iJio  l»iil.l(irniil.  conioM  no  ncjiror 
tlian  li'ii  <'!•  lil'lrcii  MiilcM  oil".  Only  Hio  immI  oiik  oiunirK,  ;mi(I  IIi;iI.  holow 
Uio  Nolcli,  'riio  clioHhrnl.  in  vviinl.iii;^;.  I'cmm^Ii  I)o;j;iiis  only  holow  l.lio 
Nolcli  on  iJio  wohI.  h'u\{\  hill  in  found  n  lilllo  iri;:;li('r  on  llu^  vwhI.  T1i(» 
liljiirk  liiicli  i!i  iiiilviiown,  MM  in  |iilcli  |iiiio.  Med  pino  occurs  Jilioiil 
Moiinl  ( 'riiwl'ord,  Kill,  not  hcyond,  norlliwiird,  till  wo  piiHM  llui  niomi- 
IniiiM.  'I'Ih>  lurch,  Iho  tirhor  vitiv,  iind  Ihc  jiiiii|)(M'H,  occur  MciirciOy  lit 
all,  o,\(M<pt  lit  the  oiitHkirlM. 

Other  trocH  uiid  h(<ihM  nppioiu-h  nciir  to  tho  inounliiins,  hut  ccnsi^ 
h<*ror(i  wo  iiMC(Mid  tliciii.  Such  nro  white  iniiph>,  iilon^  Iho  rivciH  ; 
HmI  niaph',  in  MWMiiipy  ImikIm  not  Ijir  IVdiu  the  inoiiiit;ruis  on  the  w(\st 
mUi,  luul  coiniii;j;  ntill  niMirer  on  the  eiist  ;  hhick  cherry,  in  the  iiiter- 
viils,  with  th(*  choke  ch(U"ry  ;  juiuOx^rry,  tiH  ii  tree  (culled  su;j;iir-ir(M'), 
at  the  foot  of  Mount  (Jra,wrord  ;  the  while  iind  Ihc  Mack  :i:th  ;  the 
7\ni(>ric!in  elm,  lollowini!;  the  riverM,  and  aHciMidiii;;  the  Aiiiiiioiioosih! 
UiriM*  or  lour  milen  al»ov(>  ({iimt'H  (Jrave;  th(>  i'imI  oak,  reachin<i;  |mm'- 
lutpn  hi^hcMt  in  Ihc  woods  hetw(M>n  Ihi^  Nolch  and  Mount  Crawford  ; 
the  hornhcain,  in  tlu^  intervals,  not  far  from  Mount  Crawford  ;  the 
hinck  hirch,  so  {'nv  as  it  occurs  in  i\\v  immediate  nci;;hhorliond  of  tho 
liills  ;   iind  the  halsam  (and  pcrhajis  also  the  halm  of  (iilead)  poplar. 

And  lliii  hrini^s  us  to  the  iisc(>nt.  Tlu^  country  pi<o|ile  r(^co;:;iii/.e 
loosely  I  wo  (if  lh(^  /on(^s  of  which  mention  has  l^e(^n  made  a.hov«%- - 
distinj^uishiii!-;  Ihc  hanl  wood,  <m-  ^reeii  ^^Towlh,  which  is  tin*  lower 
forest  from  the  lihic/c  i/ictndiy  or  upper  forest,  in  which  lU'cr^reiMis 
am  predominant;  and  hi^side  lh(«se,  holaiiists  designate  tlu^  hiifliesl, 
bald  distriot,  with  llu'  heads  of  ravines  doseetidinj;  from  it,  as  tho 
n/fiiiif  /•(■(//(I//,  nnd  have  sonu"tinu\s  spok<M>  of  a  small  tract,  inlcrnuv- 
diate  l)(Mw(M>n  the  last  two,  hut  still  very  impm-feidly  cimraclerized, 
lis  Iho  siilnd/iiiir  <'ri/liin.  Let  us  traverse  llu^so  regions.  The  placi' 
where  we  «uit(>r,  with  its  (d(^vation  and  ollnu-  fiMdurivs,  will  deltMiuine 
(ho  charaetor  of  tho  forest  at  the  very  foot.      If  it  he  a  cold  moun- 


THE    SACO    VALLEY.  233 

tain  SAvamp,  as  between  Giant's  Grave  and  Monnt  Clinton,  tliere  wilf 
be  less  variety  of  trees,  and  the  evergreens  will  plav  a  larger  part, 
even  at  the  base.  Bnt  as  we  ascend,  these  difterenees  become  less 
striking,  and  at  length  greatly  disappear.  Sovereign  of  trees  of  the 
low^r  forest  was  the  Avhite  pine.  Donglas,  the  anthor  of  "  The  Pres- 
ent State  of  the  British  Settlements  in  North  America,"  1749-17oo, 
speaks  of  a  wliite  pine  cut  near  Dunstable  in  IToG,  "  straight  and 
sound,  seven  feet  eight  inches  in  diameter  at  the  butt."*  Before  the 
Revolution,  all  these  trees,  excepting  those  growing  in  townships 
granted  before  1722,  Avere  accounted  the  King's  property  in  New 
Hampshire,  (as  they  Avere  also  in  Maine,)  and  the  books  of  the  royal 
contractors  for  masts  furnished  Douglas  and  Belknap  with  some  inter- 
esting items  of  the  size  and  value  of  the  sticks  thus  sent  home.  The 
dmiensions  of  those  mentioned  by  Belknap  as  ex})orted  by  INIark 
Hunking  Wentworth,  Esq.,  run  from  25  to  37  inches  through;  and 
Colonel  Partridge,  it  appears,  sent  home  a  few  of  o8  inches,  and  two 
of  42  inches ;  these  being  all  hewn  before  they  were  measured.  And 
Dr.  Dwight  heard  from  a  gentleman  of  Lancaster  that  he  had  seen 
a  Avhite  })ine  Avhich  measured  two  hundred  and  sixty-four  feet  in 
height.-)-  Straight  columns  of  this  princely  tree  rise  here  and  there, 
and  spread  the  few  strong  limbs  which  make  its  crown,  above  the 
lower  forest ;  but  the  day  of  its  pride,  still  witnessed  to  by  the 
enduring  stumps  ("it  is  a  common  saying  that  '  no  man  ever  cut 
down  a  pine,  and  lived  to  see  the  stump  rotten  ' " :):)  has  long  gone 
by.  Beside  the  white  pine,  the  first  class  of  forest  trees  is  made  up 
of  the  rock  maple,  the  beech,  and  the  hemlock,  at  the  foot ;  and, 
ascending  a  little  higher,  the  white  birch,  the  yellow  birch,  and  the 
spruce.  The  fir,  white  spruce,  the  two  aspens,  the  witch  hazel,  and 
the  mountain  ash  make  the  second  class.  Of  these  the  hemlock  is 
perhaps  second  in  size.     It  loves  low,  moist  lands,  but  often  ascenda 

*  Belkiiiip,  N.  II.  III.  p.  80. 

t  Travels,  II.  p.  34.    Williamson  Sflys:  "  Tins  been  seen  six  feet  in  diameter  at  the  butt, 
und  two  hnnJred  and  forty  feet  in  height."     Hist,  of  Maine,  II.  p.  110. 
1  Belknap,  III.  p.  81. 


234  THE    WHITE    HILLS. 

the  mountain  side.  Its  trunk  is  as  straight  as  that  of  the  pine,  but 
jg  deformed  bj  numerous  dead  Hmbs.  "  It  rises,"  sajs  Mr.  Emerson, 
"  Avith  an  uniform  shaft,  sixty  or  eighty  feet,  ^vith  its  diameter  but 
slightly  diminished  until  near  the  top,  wJien  it  tapers  very  rapidly, 
and  forms  a  head,  round,  and  full  of  branches."*  The  rock  maple  is 
scarcely  less  than  the  hemlock,  and  Avas  particularly  abundant  in  the 
country  about  the  mountains,  Avhere  it  is  still  one  of  the  finest  trees. 
The  beech  belongs  undoubtedly  to  the  first  class  of  our  forest  trees, 
but  it  hardly  equals  the  others  of  this  rank,  in  the  White  Mountains  ; 
nor  does  it  reach  above  the  foot,  being  scarcely  met  Avith  on  the  west 
side  indeed,  above  the  Notch,  though  becoming  very  common  below. 
Its  erect,  even,  smooth-barked  trunk,  Avith  "  long  diverging  arms, 
stretching  outAvards  at  a  large  angle,"  f  is  almost  ahvays  covered  Avith 
a  gay  patchAvork  of  lichens,  and  though  the  tree  be  often  Ioav  arid 
irregular,  its  firm,  shining  leaves,  and  handsome  bole  make  it  sure  to 
be  looked  at  and  remembered. 

The  yellow  birch  is  another  striking  tree  of  the  loAver  Avoods.  The 
bark,  at  first  yellowish,  but  becoming  grayish  Avitli  age,  separates  into 
large,  thick,  irregular  scales,  the  raised  edges  of  Avhich  give  the 
ragged  look  Avhich  distinguishes  the  huge  trunk.  This  rises  to  the 
utmost  height  of  the  forest,  diAading  only,  like  a  sort  of  cancldabrum, 
into  a  fcAv  bulky  limbs  at  the  top.  Equal  in  size,  but  much  more 
elegant  is  the  canoe  birch,  "  the  points  of  light  from  its  Avhite  trunk 
producing  a  brilliant  effect  in  the  midst  of  its  soft  but  glittering  foliage, 
hanging,  as  Ave  often  see  it,  over  some  mountain  stream,  or  SAveeping 
up  Avith  a  graceful  curA^e  from  the  side  of  its  steep  bank."  J 

And  last  of  the  trees  of  this  rank,  the  black  spruce  rises  to  the 
height  of  the  loAvcr  forest,  but  adds  to  the  general  effect  perhaps  as 
much  by  its  sombre  masses  of  color  as  by  its  outline,  the  pecuHar 
symmetrical  elegance  of  Avhich  this  is  capable,  being  commonly 
not  attained,  to  any  great   perfection,  in  the  Avoods.      This  spruce 

*  Trees  and  Shrubs  of  Massachusetts,  p.  80,  a  book  whicli  cannot  bo,  too  higlily  com- 
Tiended  to  every  lover  of  trees.  t  Ibid.  p.  158. 

X  Emerson,  Trees  and  Shrubs,  p.  210. 


THE   SACO    VALLEY.  935 

makes  forests  itself,  redolent  of  healing  perfume,  and  carpeted  inim- 
itably with  dense  mats  of  fresh  moss,  ia  which  the  pretty  creeping 
snowberry  often  hides  its  flowers  and  fruit.  In  such  woods  the  tree 
has  sometimes  reached  a  great  size,  Josselyn  tells  us  in  his  "New 
England's  Rarities,-"  l'J72,  of  spruce-trees  "three  fathom,"  or 
eighteen  feet  about ;  and  in  his  "  Voyages,"  the  same  writer  spealcs 
of  one  spruce  log  "  at  Pascataway,  brought  down  to  the  water-side  by 
our  mast-men,  of  an  incredible  bigness,  and  so  long  that  no  skipper 
durst  ever  yet  adventure  to  ship  it,'" — a  statement  which  might  Avell 
have  been  made  more  particular.  But  the  tree  occurs  for  the  most 
part  only  scatteringly  on  the  central  group  of  mountains. 

Of  the  forest  trees  of  second  rank,  the  fir  is  by  far  the  finest.  It 
possesses  the  smoothest  trunk,  and  the  most  beautiful  foliage  of  all  the 
evergreens,  and  none  equals  it  in  the  singular  elegance  of  its  form. 
No  one  spot  in  the  mountains  was  so  rich  in  handsome  firs,  a  few 
years  since,  as  the  neighborhood  of  the  Giant's  Grave  ;  and  many 
trees  remain  there  still.  The  white  spruce  is  another  of  the  smaller 
evergreens,  differing  from  the  black  spruce  in  its  more  graceful  habit, 
and  lighter  color.  The  American  aspen,  very  nearly  resembling  the 
aspen  of  Europe  and  of  poetry,  and  the  somewhat  larger  and  hand- 
somer great  aspen,  occur  frequently  along  roadsides  in  the  lower 
forest,  and  the  former  ascends  the  mountains  several  thousand  feet, 
in  burnt  lands.  Here  and  there  in  moister  spots,  the  slender  rowan 
or  mountain  ash  displays  its  tufts  of  feathered  leaves,  and  climbs  the 
hills  even  to  the  region  of  perpetual  shrubs.  More  common,  and 
confined  to  the  lower  forest  is  the  American  witch  hazel,  a  pleasing, 
"  bushy  tree,"  which  does  no't  need  its  autumnal  wealth  of  blossoms 
to  attract  the  eye  of  lovers  of  nature.  The  striped  maple  or  moose- 
wood,  so  called  because  its  bark  is  a  favorite  winter  food  of  our 
noblest  deer,  and  the  mountain  maple,  are  two  still  smaller  trees, 
common  in  the  lower  woods.  "  The  latter,"  says*  the  instructive 
writer  already  cited,  "  assumes  towards  autumn  various  rich  shades 
of  red,  and  as  sometimes  seen,  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  high,  hanging 
over  the   sides  of  a  road  through  woods,  with  its  clusters  of  fruit 


230  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

beneath  the  leaves,  turning  yellowish  when  the  leaf-stalks  are  scarlet, 
it  has  considerable  beauty."  *  The  red  cherry,  with  sour  fruit  grow- 
ing in  little  bunches,  is  another  small  tree,  particularly  common  in 
burnt  lands.  The  alternate  cornel,  a' conspicuous,  large  shrub,  some- 
times almost  a  tree,  with  elegant,  oval,  dark-green  leaves,  and  creamy 
heads  of  flowers,  is  frequent  on  roadsides  Here,  too,  occurs,  much 
more  rarely,  the  cranberry-tree,  of  which  the  favorite  Gelder-rose, 
Dr  snowball,  is  only  a  garden  variety.  The  hoary  alder  reaches 
sometimes  to  a  height  of  almost  thirty  feet,  and  is  one  of  the  more 
constant  and  familiar  of  the  lower  draperies  of  the  hills.  The  moun- 
tain alder  is  more  elegant,  in  its  fruit  at  least,  but  begins  rather 
higher,  and  is  never  anything  but  a  shrub.  There  are  several  tree- 
like willows  in  the  lower  region,  of  which  perhaps  the  beaked  willow 
is  the  most  noticeable. 

Of  lesser  shrubs  there  is  only  room  to  speak  of  a  few  of  the  more 
conspicuous  or  important.  The  brambles  attract  everybody  ■\\^th 
their  pleasant  fruits.  Of  these  the  wild  red  raspberry  and  the  high 
blackberry  are  sufficiently  known.  The  latter  is  the  more  tender 
shrub,  and  often  fails  to  perfect  its  berries;  but  the  former  climbs  the 
mountains  even  to  the  upper  precipice  of  Giant's  Stairs,  offering,  in 
such  secluded  nooks,  to  latest  autumn  its  welcome  cheer.  And  the 
purple-flowering  raspberry,  frequent  in  rocky  places  in  the  lower 
region,  and  attracting  the  eye  with  its  large  leaves  and  rose-hke 
blossoms,  is  perhaps  the  very  pride  of  its  race.  A  mountain  goose- 
berry, with  ungrateful  fruit,  but  handsome,  deeply-cut  leaves,  is  found 
in  swampy  places,  from  the  Notch  to  the  alpine  region.  The  garden 
red  currant  has  occurred  to  me  rarely  in  the  lower  valley  of  Mount 
Washington  River  ;  but  the  mountain  currant,  much  hke  the  other, 
except  that  the  fruit  is  hairy  and  has  a  slight  unpleasant  odor,  which 
does  not  however  diminish  its  wholesomeness.  is  confined,  perhaps 
entirely,  to  the*upper  region.  The  common  elder  and  red-berried 
elder  are  both  frequent  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains ;  but  only  the 
latter  ascends  them.     The  withered  is  also  confined  to  the  lower 

*  Emerson,  Trees  and  Shrubs,  p.  498. 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  237 

region ;  bu ;  the  hobble-bush  accompanies  or  impedes  the  chmber  fai 
up  the  mountain  sides.  Both  these  species  of  viburnum  produce  fruit 
that  may  be  eaten  when  ripe,  and  that  of  the  hobble-bush  is  rather 
pleasant,  to  wayfarers  at  least.  There  is  no  fruit  of  its  kind  that 
appears  to  surpass  the  Canada  blueberry,  Avhen  eaten  in  perfection  on 
the  summits  of  the  lower  ridges  or  spurs,  as  especially  of  Mount 
Crawford  ;  and  this,  which  does  not  grow  so  far  south  as  Massachu- 
setts, is  also  remarkably  good  as  a  dried  fruit.  Nor  must  we  fail  to 
glance,  in  passing,  at  the  rhodora, 

Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook 
To  please  the  desert; 

still,  as  when  Bigelow  wrote,  beautiful  in  the  Notch,  in  June,  and  on 
the  mountains,  later  ;  at  the  cheerful  but  modest  mountain  holly, 
with  its  clean,  smooth,  light-green  leaves  and  crimson  berries  ;  and 
last,  not  least,  at  our  American  yew,  than  which  there  is  no  hand- 
somer undershrub,  in  leaf  or  berry. 

The  foregoing  may  perhaps  serve  as  some  introduction  to  the  plants 
which  are  most  likely  to  attract  the  eye  in  the  lower  forest.  But  as 
we  ascend,  many  of  these  disappear,  and  the  trees  of  the  green  growth, 
or  hard  wood,  become  fewer  and  smaller,  till  they  are  lost  at  length  in 
the  solemn  evergreen  woods.  This  is  the  second  zone  of  vegetation, 
which  the  people  of  the  country  call,  fitly  enough,  the  black  growth. 
The  trees  are  spruce  and  fir,  with,  here  and  there,  a  yellow  or  a 
canoe  birch,  or  a  mountain  ash.  Fraser's  balsam  fir  has  also  occurred 
to  me  in  this  region,  but  I  know  not  what  proportion  it  makes  of  the 
growth.  These  woods  are  almost  silent,  and  very  few  flowers  vary 
the  sameness  of  the  thick  mat  of  mosses  which  covers  the  earth.  The 
mountain  aster  and  the  mountain  golden-rod,  the  white  orcliis,  the  white 
hellebore,  clintonia,  and  more  rarely  the  three-leaved  Solomon's  seal, 
are  among  these ;  but  what  surpasses  all  other  herbs  in  abundance, 
and  really  characterizes  the  region,  is  the  delicate  wood-sorrel. 

The  upper  forest  diminishes  constantly  as  the  elevation  increases, 
tin  at  the  height  of  about  four  thousand  feet  it  becomes  a  close 

33 


238  THE    WHITE    HH.LS. 

thicket  of  dwarf  trees,  the  lengthened  and  depressed  limbs  of  which, 
strong  enough  to  support  a  man,  make  a  natural,  often  impenetrable 
hurdle,  or  ehevaiix  de  friae,  to  shut  in  the  alpine  solitudes.  A  few 
flowers  still  adorn  the  more  barren  soil,  especially  in  moist  places,  and 
are  less  likely  to  be  passed  over  than  below.  The  dwarf  cornel  or 
buncliberry,  the  creeping  snowberry,  the  bluets.  Little's  wild  liquorice, 
the  dwarf  orchis,  the  twayblade,  the  purple  and  the  painted  trilliums, 
and  clintonia,  make  most  of  these,  which  cease,  nearly  all,  as  the 
shrubs  grow  less.  At  length  the  shrubs  come  suddenly  to  an  end, 
and  the  wide  wilderness  of  the  alpine  region  opens  before  us.  Barren 
rocks,  it  seems,  varied  only  with  green  patches  here  and  there,  or 
hollows,  where  dwarf  firs  and  birches  still  -struggle  up.  But  this 
"  tumultuous  waste  of  huge  hill-tops  "  is  less  barren  than  we  think. 
The  plants  have,  many  of  them,  to  be  looked  for ;  but  these  reward, 
abundantly,  the  search.  The  largest  part  of  the  vegetation  here  is 
like  nothing  that  we  have  seen  below,  nor  shall  we  find  it  in  the  low 
country  much  short  of  the  coast  of  Labrador.  Perhaps  it  is  the 
mountain  sand^vort,  a  delicate,  little  grass-like  herb  with  starry  Avhite 
blossoms,  that  first  catches  the  eye  ;  or  the  evergreen  cowberry 
with  its  bell-shaped,  pinkish  flow^ers  and  blood-red  fruit ;  or  the 
strange,  thick-leaved  Labrador  tea ;  or  the  heath-like  crowberry 
with  black  fruit ;  or  the  mountain  bilberry.  These  are  all  at  home 
here,  and  true  mountain  plants ;  but  they  'are  not  peculiar  to  the 
region,  and  can  and  do  grow  at  much  lower  elevations.  But  the 
Lapland  diapensia,  which  is  met  with  almost  as  soon,  Avill  be  sought 
probably  in  vain,  except  on  the  highest  summit  of  the  Adirondack, 
near  Lake  Champlain,  and  doubtless  Katahdin,  till  a  much  more 
northern  latitude  than  ours  is  reached.  The  thick  tufts  of  this  plant 
are  composed  of  many,  closely  packed  simple  stems,  densely  clad 
below  with  fleshy  evergreen  leaves,  and  making  above  a  flat  cushion, 
out  of  which  rise,  in  July  and  after,  short  stalks  bearing  showy  white 
flowers.  "  Of  all  more  perfect  plants,"  says  Wahlenberg,  "  this  ia 
most  patient  of  cold,  and  preserves  its  greenness  through  the  direst 
(Lapland)  winter.     As  I  journeyed  through  the  alps  in  the  intensest 


THE   SACO   VALLEY.  239 

frost,  I  saw  the  leafy  sods  of  diapensia  as  bright  as  in  summer."* 
The  dwarf  birch,  first  described  by  Limiasus  in  his  Flora  of  Lapland, 
and  noticeable  for  its  small,  rounded  leaves,  is  another  truly  alpine 
plant,  which  occurs  in  moist  places,  with  one  or  two  shrub-Avillows. 
Another,  still  smaller  willow,  loves  rather  the  rocks,  and  bears  the 
name  of  the  first  botanist  who  explored  the  mountains.  Some  other 
shrubs,  of  more  interest,  come  gradually  into  view,  in  little  nooks  of 
the  rocky  region.  Such  are  the  Lapland  rhododendron,  a  spreading, 
small  shrub  with  leathery,  evergreen  leaves,  dotted  Avith  rusty,  resin- 
ous points,  and  bearing  open-bell-shaped,  deep  purple  flowers  in  July 
and  after.  In  Europe,  with  the  exception  of  a  single  Norwegian 
station,  this  is  confined  to  Lapland  ;  but  extends  here  through  all  the 
vast  solitudes  from  Labrador  to  the  Polar  Sea.  Rather  more  rare, 
and  much  smaller  is  the  alpine  azalea,  with  procumbent  trunk  and 
spreading  branches,  clothed  with  elegant,  also  evergreen  oblong 
leaves,  and  small,  bell-shaped,  rosy  blossoms.  Linnaeus  says  no 
plant  is  more  common  in  the  alps  of  Lapland  than  this.  It  is  not 
kno-wn  at  any  other  station  in  the  United  States,  but  occurs  in  New- 
foundland, and  northward.  The  alpine  bear-berry  is  still  more  rare. 
This  has  larger,  net-veined,  wrinkled  leaves,  which  are  not  evergreen, 
and  bears  a  few  egg-shaped,  pale,  flesh-colored  blossoms,  which  are 
followed  by  a  black  fruit,  of  no  account,  says  Linnoeus,  among  the 
Laps.  At  once  more  curious,  and  more  easily  to  be  found,  as  we 
approach  the  rocky  brink  of  the  ravines,  which  descend  from  the 
high  plain  to  the  southeast  of  the  peak  of  Mount  Washington,  and 
especially  from  that  grassy  expanse  which  is  known  as  Bigelow's 
Lawn,  is  the  moss-like  cassiope,  with  tufted,  thread-like  stems,  covered 
with  crowded,  appressed,  needle-shaped  leaves,  and  sending  up  on 
solitary  stalks  a  most  graceful,  nodding,  open-bell-shaped  floiver, 
contained  .in  a  purple  calyx.  Wonderfully  docs  it  charm  the  be- 
holder, exclaims  Limi?eus,  in  the  most  barren  regions  of  our  (La}> 
land)  alps  !  But  the  cassiope  is  surpassed  in  beauty  by  the  alpine 
heath.     We   have  no   other  American  plant  so  well  entitled   to  be 

*  Wahl.  FI.  Lapp.  58. 


240  THE   WHITE   HH.LS. 

called  a  heath  as  this.  Like  the  last,  it  loves  especially  the  rockj 
brinks  of  the  ravines, — a  low  shrub,  with  heath-like  evergreen  leaves, 
the  arrangement  of  which  reminds  one  also  of  the  firs,  and  bearing, 
in  July  and  August,  from  two  to  five  "  oblong-urn-shaped,"  purple 
flowers,  which,  as  is  common  in  alpine  species,  are  large  for  the  plant. 

We  are  at  the  edge  of  the  gulfs  and  ravines,  perhaps  the  most 
striking  inner  feature  of  Mount  Washington.  The  great  depth  and 
headlong  descent  of  these  valleys,  fill,  at  once,  the  eye,  nor  is  it 
always  easy  to  restrict  it  to  the  humbler  quests  of  Flora.  But  those 
patches  of  verdure  that  make  glad  the  rocky  walls,  oiFer  a  more  lux- 
uriant vegetation  than  has  yet,  anywhere,  occurred  to  us.  Here 
grows  the  daisy-leaved  lady's  smock  ;  the  alpine  violet ;  the  moss 
campion  ;  the  alpine  willow-herb,  speedwell,  and  painted  cup ;  the 
eyebright ;  Peck's  geum  ;  the  dwarf  bilberry,  and  rarely,  along  rivu- 
lets, the  alpine  saxifrage.  And  below,  close  to  the  lingering  snows, 
are  the  rare  mountain  cudweed,  and  mountain  sorrel.  It  is  in  these 
tiny  pastures  that  we  find  the  grasses  of  the  alps,  most  of  them  of 
singular  beauty.  Southwest  of  Mount  Washington,  about  the  Lake 
of  the  Clouds,  and  on  the  side  of  the  peaks  of  Monroe,  are  spots  a 
good  deal  like  those  just  described,  and  more  easily  reached  ;  and 
near  by  the  latter  is  a  stony  plain,  the  peculiar  home  of  the  alpine 
cinquefoil,  and  a  few  other  plants.  The  southwestern  summits  are 
lower,  and  less  generally  interesting  than  the  regions  already  de- 
scribed, but  the  cloudberry  is  confined  to  them,  and  they  also  possess 
the  alpine  bear-berry,  and,  very  abundantly,  the  two  mountain  rattle- 
snake-roots. 

Some  few  plants  of  the  lower  country  ascend  the  valleys,  and  min- 
gle with  the  alpine  vegetation  at  their  heads.  Such  are  the  cow- 
parsnip,  and  the  hellebore,  the  linnaea,  the  bluets,  the  chickweed- 
wintergreen,  the  dwarf  cornel,  the  clintonia,  the  twisted  bellwort, 
and  the  rosy  bellwort. 

Nor  should  this  sketch  be  dismissed  without  mention  of  a  hand- 
some stranger  from  the  Southern  AUeghanies,  which,  within  a  few 
years, — so  at  least  it  seems, — ^has  appeared  and  established  itself  in 


THE    SACO   VALLEY.  241 

the  slides  of  the  Notch.  The  silver  whitlow-wort  was  first  observed 
by  Mr.  Oakes,  in  1844,  in  the  Notch,  where  it  is  now  very  common ; 
and  the  same  year  the  writer  discovered  it,  in  soil  similar  to  that  of 
its  other  station,  on  the  summit  of  the  ridge  of  Mount  Crawford.  It 
well  deserves  admiration.  If  possible,  we  shall  give  further  partic- 
ulars of  the  botany  of  the  mountains,  in  a  catalogue  at  the  end. 

Mountain  gorses,  ever  golden! 
Cankered  not  the  whole  year  long! 
Do  you  teach  us  to  be  strong, 
Howsoever  pricked  and  holden 
Like  your  thorny  blooms,  and  so 
Trodden  on  by  rain  and  snow 
Up  the  hill-side  of  this  life,  as  bleak  as  where  ye  grow? 

Mountain  blossoms,  shining  blossoms ' 
Do  ye  teach  us  to  be  glad 
When  no  summer  can  be  had. 
Blooming  in  our  inward  bosoms'? 
Fe  whom  God  preserveth  still. 
Set  as  lights  upon  a  hill, 
lOkens  to  the  wintry  earth  that  Beauty  liveth  still  1 

Mountain  gorses,  do  ye  teach  us 
From  that  academic  chair 
Canopied  with  azure  air. 
That  the  wisest  word  Man  reaches 
Is  the  humblest  he  can  speak? 
Ye  who  live  on  mountain  peak, 
Yet  live  low  along  the  ground,  beside  the  grasses  meek  I 

Mountain  gorses!  since  Linnaeus 
Knelt  beside  you  on  the  sod, 
For  your  beauty  thanking  God, — 
For  your  teaching,  ye  should  see  us 
Bowing  in  prostration  new. 
Whence  arisen, — if  one  or  two 
Drops  be  on  our  cheeks — 0  world!  they  are  not  tears,  but  dew 


THE  ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY. 


BETHEL,  GORHAM,  BERLIN,  AND  THE  GLEN. 


"  No  scenes  have  given  me  more  lasting  pleasure.  The  mottntnins,  it  ts  said,  are  not  lofty, 
enough  for  sublimity.  But  as  the  light  and  cloud  play  on  them,  and  they  arise  around  you  in 
dark,  or  silver,  or  purple  masses,  the  effect  is  very  magical — under  certain  lights,  even  per- 
feclly  sublime.  Scenes  more  spiritual  Switzerland  itself  could  hardly  produce.  But  aU 
comparisons  are  futile.  We  grow  to  love  a  country,  as  we  grow  to  love  a  person,  because  we 
have  there  exercised  our  faculty  of  loving.  Nowhere  to  me  has  nature  been  more  kindly  beau- 
tiful. And  who  has  not  noticed  how  all  the  pleasing  accessories  of  a  fertile  and  homely  land- 
scape gain  infinitely  by  their  union  with  the  mountain  ranges  f  The  streams  run  conscious  of 
Uie  purple  hills  ;  every  tree  and  flower  has  something  more  than  its  own  beauty,  when  it  grow$- 
in  the  shadow,  or  in  the  light,  of  Oie  glorious  mountains.  Wherever  they  rear  their  mystic 
summits  to  the  clouds,  there  is  an  indescribable  commingling  of  heaven  and  of  earth.  Tht^ 
mountain  is  the  religion  of  the  landscape." 

';,    ,  ;  Thokhdalb. 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY. 

The  railroad  from  Portland  to  Montreal  meets  the  Androscocr^in 
River  at  Bethel  in  Maine,  twenty  miles  distant  from  Gorham. 
Bethel  itself  is  the  North  Conway  of  the  eastern  slope  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  would  well  reward  a  visit  of  a  few  days.  It  has  no  single 
patch  of  meadow  that  is  so  fascinating  as  the  broad  emerald  floor 
under  the  Mote  Mountain,  which  has  excited  in  artists  such  joy  and 
such  despair.  But  its  river-scenery  is  much  richer  than  that  of  the 
Saco  ;  and  it  has  so  many  pleasant  strips  of  meadow,  like  the  "  Mid- 
dle Intervale,"  relieved  by  the  broad  winding  Androscoggin  in  front, 
and  by  ample  hills  in  the  rear,  brightly  colored  to  the  summit  with 
fertile  farms,  that,  for  drives,  it  is  a  question  if  North  Conway  would 
not  be  obhged  to  yield  the  palm. 

Before  many  years  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  there  will  be  a  larger 
overflow  from  the  regular  track,  into  the  more  lonely  aisles  and  the 
side-chapels  of  the  grand  cathedral  district  of  New  Hampshu-e. 
Then  the  wonder  will  be  that  Bethel  was  not  from  the  first  more 
celebrated.  As  we  write  about  it,  we  have  a  picture  in  mind  which 
Paradise  Hill  showed  to  us  in  a  showery  noon,  on  our  first  visit  to 
the  village.  The  height  is  fitly  named.  We  can  see  now  the  wide 
array  of  gentle  hills  swelling  so  variously  that  the  verdure  of  the 
forests,  or  the  mottled  bounty  of  the  harvests,  drooped  from  them  in 
almost  every  curve  of  grace.  Some  of  these  hills  were  partially 
lighted  through  thin  veils  of  cloud  ;  some  were  draped  with  the  ten- 
der gray  of  a  shower,  which  now  and  then  would  yield  to  flushes  of 
moist  and  golden  sunshine  ;  not  far  off  rose  a  taller  summit  in  slaty 
shadow  ;  and  between,  on  the  line  of  the  river,  the  different  greens 

3i 


246 


THE   AVHITE   HILLS. 


of  the  intervale  would  gleam  in  the  scattered  streams  of  light  that 
forced  their  way,  here  and  there,  through  the  heavy  and  trailing 
curtains  of  the  dogday  sky.  In  the  morning  or  evening  light  that 
horizon  must  inclose  countless  pictures  which  only  need  selection, 
and  not  improvement,  for  the  canvas. 


The  ride  in  the  cars  from  Bethel  to  Gorham  is  very  charmmg.  If 
the  railroad  approached  no  nearer  to  Gorham  than  this  point,  a  stage- 
ride  along  the  same  route  could  hardly  be  rivalled  in  New  Hamp- 
shire. What  a  delightful  avenue  to  the  great  range  it  would  be  ! 
The  brilHant  meadows,  proud  of  their  arching  elms  ;  the  full  broad 
A.ndroscoggin,  whose  charming  islands  on  a  still  day  rise  from  it  like 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN  VALLEY.  247 

emeralds  from  liquid  silver ;  the  grand,  Scotch-looking  hills  that 
guard  it ;  the  firm  lines  of  the  White  Mountain  ridge  that  shoot, 
now  and  then,  across  the  north,  when  the  road  makes  a  sudden  turn ; 
and  at  last,  when  we  leave  Shelbume,  the  splendid  symmetry  that 
bursts  upon  us  when  the  whole  mass  of  Madison  is  seen  throned  over 
the  valley,  itself  overtopped  by  the  ragged  pinnacle  of  Adams ; — it 
is,  indeed,  hard  to  say  that  any  approach  to  the  mountains  could  be 
finer  than  from  Conway  through  Bartlett  up  the  Saco  Valley, — but 
we  honestly  think  that,  if  the  distance  between  Bethel  and  Gorham 
were  traversed  by  stage,  travellers  would  confess  that  it  must  take 
the  first  rank,  among  all  the  paths  to  Mount  Washington. 

In  the  introductory  chapter  we  called  attention  to  the  fact,  that 
around  the  village  of  Gorham  some  of  the  most  impressive  landscapes 
to  be  found  in  New  England,  are  combined  from  the  Androscoggin 
River,  its  meadows,  the  lower  hills  that  inclose  it,  and  one  or  two  of 
the  great  White  Mountains  proper  that  overlook  the  valley.  This  is 
the  only  region  where  we  can  see  one  of  the  four  highest  mountains 
of  the  chain  standing  alone ;  and  so  there  is  no  point  from  which  such 
an  impression  of  height  is  obtained  as  on  the  banks  of  the  Androscog- 
gin vrithin  two  or  three  miles  of  Gorham,  or  from  some  of  the  hills 
around  the  village. 

In  order  to  call  attention  to  one  of  the  most  striking  of  these  land- 
scapes in  which  Mounts  Madison  and  Adams  are  the  dominant  fig- 
ures, we  will  quote  a  portion  of  a  letter  by  the  writer  of  these  pages 
to  a  friend.  As  it  was  sent  fresh  from  an  enjoyment  of  the  scene, 
on  the  evening  of  a  hot  summer  day,  just  after  the  long  railroad  ride 
from  Boston,  it  may  have  less  feebleness  than  a  copy  of  the  scene 
from  memory. 

"  Shall  I  write  you  a  Miserere  over  the  journey  to  Gorham  to-day 
or  an  Exultcmus  at  the  arrival  ?  It  has  been  a  dreadful  avenue  tc 
the  temple — the  long  hours  of  heat  and  dust,  of  roar  and  cinders ; 
but  it  is  all  past,  and,  while  it  made  the  pleasure  of  the  day's  end 

34* 


248  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

sweeter,  will  not  drag  out  any  length  of  repetitious  misery  in  the 
memory.  We  chew  the  cud  of  our  purer  pleasures,  not  of  the  pains 
that  ushered  them.     They  are  digested  in  the  first  experience. 

"  The  second  rehef  came  to  us  in  the  afternoon,  when  our  train 
struck  a  shower  that  hurried  to  meet  us  from  the  mountains.  It  was 
a  grand  welcome,  after  the  morning  heat.  A  sweeping  northwest 
^ust,  rushing  towards  us  down  the  river,  flung  its  dim  drapery  across 
the  whole  breadth  of  the  Androscoggin,  letting  it  droop  heavily,  here 
and  there,  in  thick  thunderous  folds,  that  thinned  themselves  in  fire 
and  rain,  and  left  the  air  sweet  and  fresh  in  the  track  of  their  wrath. 
Thus  the  twenty  miles  from  Bethel  to  Gorham'  gave  us  an  hour  of 
delicious  poetry.  Vapors  flitted  over  the  rough  and  sturdy  hills, 
among  which  we  twisted  our  way.  The  meadows  were  jewelled  with 
the  recent  shower.  The  river  lay  glassy  in  the  quiet  light  ;  and  the 
trees  stood  as  pensive  and  cool  in  the  moist,  sweet  air,  as  their 
motionless  ambrotypes  in  the  liqiiid  mirror  by  which  they  grew.  I 
should  have  been  willing  to  stay  in  the  cars  another  hour. 

"  But  the  punctual  *  Grand  Trunk '  landed  us  in  Gorham  just 
when  we  were  due,  at  quarter  past  five,  p.  m. — in  time  to  get  washed 
and  rested  before  the  supper  of  strawberries  and  trout,  and  then  to 
have  a  dessert  ride.  During  supper,  another  and  lighter  shower 
trailed  down  the  valley,  and  bequeathed  to  us  a  rich  feast  of  sunset 
beauty.  A  soft-tinted  rainbow  spanned  all  the  southerly  intervale  be- 
tween the  mountain  bulwarks  of  the  valley.  Brittle  mists  were 
breaking  over  the  whole  breastworks  of  Moriah,  Imp,  and  Carter, 
showing  to  fine  advantage  the  dark  masses  of  their  healthy  green. 
Clouds  of  exquisite  pearly  and  fawn  hues  were  piled  over  the  west ; 
and  beneath  them,  scudding  shreds  of  fog  on  the  Pilot  Hills,  would 
be  smitten  with  the  subtle  silver  and  gold  of  the  dying  sun.  It  was 
a  rich  renewal  of  my  acquaintance  with  Gorham,  and  a  rare  evening 
for  a  ride.  I  turned  the  horse's  head  northward,  to  let  him  trot 
along  the  Androscoggin  banks,  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  clear  view  of 
some  of  the  White  Mountain  summits,  from  the  point  where  I  think 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  249 

they  look  grandest.  Of  course,  I  could  not  sleep  without  paying 
respects  to  those  masters  of  the  manor. 

"  The  yellow  and  sparkling  hght  on  the  grass  would  have  been  pay- 
ment enough  for  the  ride,  after  yesterday's  sirocco  in  Boston,  and 
the  matted  misery  of  the  railroad  journey.  The  music  and  majesty 
of  the  Androscoggin,  briskly  sweeping  the  curves  of  its  downward 
grade  wth  so  strong  a  tide,  would,  at  any  time,  reward  a  visit.  But 
my  eyes  were  hungry  for  a  grander  spectacle.  Should  I  be  dis- 
appointed ?  I  turned  my  head  at  the  proper  spot,  with  .some  mis- 
giving, but  the  shower  had  .been  propitious, — the  summits  I  longed 
for  were  not  shrouded. 

"  Hail,  glorious  ridges  and  princely  peaks  !  Hail  to  your  stubborn 
masonry  of  tilted  strata  !  Hail  to  your  shaggy  belts  of  pine,  and  the 
arctic  shrubbery  of  your  breasts  !  Hail  to  your  black  ravines,  your 
savage  gorges,  channelled  with  torrents  and  gnawed  with  frosts ; 
your  granite  throats  scarred  with  thunder  ;  your  foreheads  bare  and 
defiant  to  all  the  batteries  of  storm  !  There  you  stand,  the  glory  of 
New  England,  rooted,  massive,  majestic  as  in  all  the  years  since  the 
first  tired  pioneer  gazed  with  awe  upon  you, — as  in  all  the  years 
since  Adam  !  When  I  last  looked  at  you,  your  twin  heads  rose  out 
of  the  golden  robes  which  Autumn  weaves ; — now,  the  forests  are 
green  again,  and  you  are  swarthy  with  the  '  inky  cloak '  which  the 
spent  thunderclouds  are  dropping  over  your  stout  frames.  How 
has  the  winter  fared  with  you  ?  Not  a  line  of  your  rugged  symme- 
try have  the  ruffian  tempests  of  January  and  March  softened.  A 
thousand  winters,  doubtless,  open  fruitless  cannonades  upon  your 
cones.  Still  you  look  down,  patient  and  sublime,  repeating  in  granite 
hieroglyphic,  to  the  pleasure-seekers  that  flit  in  summer  around  your 
solemn  base,  the  old  story  of  Titan  Prometheus,  tormented,  silent, 
and  victorious  for  the  good  of  man  !  Do  they  not  seem  to  say  to  tha 
Prince  of  the  powers  of  the  air,  as  Shelley  makes  the  Titan  demi-god 
say  to  Jupiter, — 

Let  alternate  frost  and  fire 
Eat  into  me,  and  be  thine  ire 


250  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

Lightning,  and  cutting  hail,  and  legioned  forms 
Of  furies,  driving  by  upon  the  wounding  storms. 

See,  old  Adams  wears  one  little  knot  of  snoAvy  ribbon  on  his  breast, 
— a  modest  trophy  which  the  sun  has  not  yet  stolen  from  him, — the 
only  sign  he  gives  of  his  triumph  over  another  year  !  That  narrow, 
silky  sparkle  is,  no  doubt,  a  snow-drift,  some  rods  in  length,  that  ia 
dying  gradually  into  a  trout-stream. 

"  Ah,  what  refreshment  in  that  sight !  the  horse  shall  walk  slowly 
in  returning,  that  the  mountain  grandeur  may  be  deliberately  tasted. 
Fatigues  vanish  before  it.  The  throat  is  stronger ;  the  nerves  are 
strung  anew  ;  the  brain  is  recharged  with  power.  Many  a  time, 
during  the  last  eight  months,  I  have  found  myself  breathing  the  sub- 
limity they  shed,  as  they  have  risen  in  the  dreamy  atmosphere  of 
memory.  But,  this  evening,  I  have  looked  again  upon  their  walls 
and  buttresses,  and  a  week  of  rest  has  been  concentrated  in  the  joy 
of  the  hour." 

The  close  of  this  quotation  leads  us  to  say  that,  apart  from  the 
physical  refreshment  which  change  of  air  and  rest  from  business 
afford,  the  great  value  of  a  tour  among  the  mountains  is  found  in  the 
stock  it  supplies  for  "  pleasures  of  memory."  The  labor  and  fatigue 
of  journeyings,  the  excursions,  the  cl.imbings,  the  fishing-expeditions, 
the  drives,  with  all  the  pictures  that  are  thus  brought  before  the  eye, 
are  the  capital,  of  which  after-thoughts,  reviving  recollections,  the 
occasional  resurrection  of  some  exquisite  view  in  our  reveries,  are  the 
interest.  The  rough  facts  of  a  landscape  that  impresses  us  renew 
themselves,  like  hill-shores  in  a  lake,  in  dream  pictures,  Avhen  we 
have  receded  from  them.  That  journey  is  the  most  profitable  one 
which  affords  the  largest  number  of  those  scenes  whose  lovely  appa- 
ritions will  rise  afterwards  before  the  musing  eye.  And  that  day,  or 
that  confederacy  of  mountain-forms,  proves  the  richest  resource  or 
investment,  that  is  found  to  exhale  most  freely  the  pictures  which 
enlarge  the  mental  treasury — which  pays  most  Uberally  these  ideal 
iividends. 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  251 

In  this  respect  Adams  and  Madison,  of  which  we  have  just  been 
Bpeaking,  furnish  the  most  profitable  acquaintance.  Their  Doric 
majesty,  when  first  seen,  makes  an  impression  so  strong  and  so  sim- 
ple, that  the  beholder  feels  he  shall  never  lose  it.  One  cannot  see 
how  the  substance  upheaved  in  them  could  be  sculptured  into  forms 
that  would  blend  more  powerfully  the  effect  of  height  and  mass. 
They  completely  shut  out  every  other  mountain  of  the  range,  and 
every  suggestion  that  there  is  a  range  behind  them, — except  one 
climbing  spur  of  Mount  Washington, — so  that  we  have  a  greater 
height  than  that  of  Mount  Washington  itself  seen  from  the  Giant's 
Grave,  shown,  not  in  the  centre  of  a  long  chain,  but  in  two  peaks 
enthroned  over  a  base  not  more  than  three  miles  broad.  The  height 
of  Mount  Adams  is  about  five  thousand  eight  hundred  feet ;  the 
height  of  Mount  Washington  nearly  six  thousand  three  hundred. 
But  the  valley  in  Gorham  is  only  about  eight  hundred  feet  above  the 
sea,  while  the  plain  near  the  Giant's  Grave,  or  the  plateau  in  the 
Glen,  is  elevated  more  than  sixteen  hundred  feet.  When  seen, 
therefore,  near  the  bend  of  the  Androscoggin,  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  above  the  Alpine  House  in  Gorham,  Mount  Adams  not  only 
makes  a  greater  impression  of  height  than  Mount  Washington  does 
from  the  Glen,  or  from  the  Giant's  Grave,  but  is  actually  several 
hundred  feet  higher  above  the  road  than  the  monarch  of  the  range 
measures  from  either  of  those  points.  It  is  really  the  highest  elevar 
tion  which  we  can  look  at  in  New  England  from  any  point  within 
a  few  miles  of  the  base.  Indeed,  it  is  the  highest  point  of  land  over- 
looking a  station  near  the  base,  that  can  be  seen  east  of  the  Missis- 
sippi. For,  though  there  are  several  mountains  in  North  Carolina 
that  are  higher  from  the  sea  than  Mount  Washington,  there  are  none 
of  them  that  rise  so  high  over  the  immediate  table-land  from  which 
they  spring,  Avhile  their  forms  are  far  less  picturesque.  And  then,  aa 
wo  have  said,  the  forms  and  isolation  of  these  easterly  outworks  of 
the  New  Hampshire  ridge  make  their  height  more  powerfully  felt. 

It  is  worth  while  to  stay  two  or  three  days  in  Gorham,  in  order 
to  study  these  burly  pyramids  from  various  points,  by  climbing  the 


252  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

hill-sides  ;  or  to  see  them  striped  midway  with  cloud ;  or  to  catch  the 
sublime  picture  they  make  when  a  heavy  shower  sweeps  near  them 
without  enveloping  their  summits  in  fog,  and  hides  with  thick  rain  all 
their  surface,  and  makes  them,  in  mid-day,  monotonous  blue-black 
piles,  kindled  now  and  then  into  momentary  color  by  a  sudden  stream 
or  sheet  of  sulphurous  glare. 

But  the  most  vivid  impression  which  these  two  mountains"  can 
make  upon  visitors  Avho  have  only  a  day  to  pass  in  Gorham,  will  be 
gained  by  a  drive  to  Randolph  Hill,  which  is  about  five  miles  from 
the  hotel.  The  road  rises  nearly  six  hundred  feet  in  this  distance. 
After  the  first  mile  the  summits  are  in  view  all  the  way.  As  the 
sides  of  the  mountains  are  more  and  more  clearly  seen,  attention  is 
arrested  by  the  correspondent  lines  that  run  northwest  from  Adams, 
and  southeast  from  Madison.  They  are  alike  in  almost  all  their  de- 
tails. These  earthquake  rhymes  are  more  interesting  for  the  intel- 
lect than  the  granite  physiognomy  in  Franconia.  And  the  lower 
outworks  and  braces  of  Mount  Madison  repeat,  in  reduced  form  and 
reverse  order,  the  shapes  of  the  two  great  hills.  There  is  no  drive 
more  valuable  than  this  for  a  close  study  of  the  multitudinous  details 
that  make  up  the  foreground  of  a  vast  mountain — the  abutments,  the 
water-lines,  the  ravine  walls  and  edges,  the  twistings  of  rock  beneath 
the  soil,  that  give  character  to  a  view  ten  miles  off,  which  almost 
every  eye  feels,  but  which  only  a  critical  one  can  explain.  Here  is 
a  lesson  in  drawing  which  shows  very  quickly  what  a  complicated 
piece  of  art  a  noble  mountain  is,  even  in  form,  leaving  the  richness 
and  complexity  of  color  out  of  the  account. 

And  then  the  general  aspect  of  these  mountains  during  this  drive. 
How  proud  and  secure  !  What  weight  and  what  spirit !  They  are 
not  dead  matter, — they  live.  So  solid,  yet  soaring  !  They  seem  to 
lift  themselves  to  that  glorious  height.  When  we  gain  the  summit 
of  Randolph  Hill,  and  ride  to  the  edge  where  it  slants  down  to  the 
.eft,  we  stand  where  we  can  put  our  hand  upon  the  mane  of  a  moun- 
tain without  reaching  so  far  as  Byron  was  obliged  to  in  his  poem, 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN    VALLEY. 


253 


when  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  mane  of  the  sea, — for  he  stood  in 
fancy  on  the  Alban  Mount,  some  miles  away  from  the  ocean,  when 
he  stretched  out  his  arm  to  touch  it  thus.  Here  we  see  the  north- 
eastern wall  of  the  White  Mountain  chain  dechning  sharply  to  the 
valley.  From  Randolph  Hill  we  look  down  to  the  lowest  course  of 
its  masonry,  and  up  to  the  two  noblest  spires  of  rock  which  the  ridge 
supports.     How  lonely  and  desolate  it  looks,  aloft  there  !     And  yet 


T."%^ 


those  pinnacles,  that  ai  e  scarcely  fanned 
by  a  breath  of  sununer,  and  that  feci 
such  storms  as  the  valleys  never  know 
and  could  not  bear, — is  it  not  whole- 
some to  look  at  them  and  think  what  they  undergo  for  the  good  of 
New  England  ?  Must  we  not  summon  Emerson's  lines,  that  stand 
at  the  portal  of  his  stirring  pages  on  Heroism,  to  express  the  feeling 
which  these  granite  types  of  Puritan  pith  and  sturdiness  awaken, 
when  we  look  up  to  their  storm-scarred  brows  ? 

Ruby  wine  is  drunk  by  knaves 
Sugar  spends  to  fatten  slaves 
35 


254  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

Rose  and  vine  leaf  deck  buffoons; 
Thunder-clouds  are  Jove's  festoons, 
Drooping  oft,  in  wreaths  of  dread. 
Lightning-knotted  round  his  head; 
The  hero  is  not  fed  on  sweets. 
Daily  his  own  heart  he  eats; 
Chambers  of  the  great  are  jails, 
And  head-winds  right  for  royal  sails. 

It  seems,  however,  to  be  true  that  no  mountain  is  a  hero  to  its 
vallej,  although  the  proverb  maj'  be  false  in  regard  to  men.  Many, 
no  doubt,  will  sympathize  with  the  antipathy  of  the  English  writer 
who  says :  "  If  they  look  hke  Paradise  for  three  months  in  the 
summer,  they  are  a  veritable  Inferno  for  the  other  nine  ;  and  I 
should  like  to  condemn  my  mountain-worshipping  friends  to  pass 
a  whole  year  under  the  shadow  of  Snowden,  with  that  great  black 
head  of  his  shutting  out  the  sunlight,  staring  down  in  their  gar- 
den, overlooking  all  they  do,  in  the  most  impertinent  way,  sneez- 
ing and  spitting  at  them  with  rain,  hail,  snow,  and  bitter,  freezing 
blasts,  even  in  the  hottest  sunshine.  A  mountain  ?  He  is  a  great, 
stupid  giant,  with  a  perpetual  cold  in  his  head,  whose  highest  ambi- 
tion is  to  give  you  one  also.  As  for  his  beauty,  no  natural  object 
has  so  little  of  its  own.  He  owes  it  to  the  earthquakes  that  reared 
him  up,  to  the  rains  and  storms  which  have  furrowed  him,  to  every 
gleam  and  cloud  Avhich  passes  over  him.  In  himself,  he  is  a  mere 
helpless  stone-heap." 

We  once  asked  a  good-natured  old  farmer  who  lived  on  Randolph 
Hill,  if  he  did  not  find  it  inspiring  to  dwell  on  a  spot  where  two  such 
forms  as  Madison  and  Adams  towered  so  grandly  before  his  eyes. 
"  Blast  'em,"  said  he,  "I  wish  they  was  flat ;  I  don't  look  at  'em 
for  weeks  at  a  time."  "  But,"  said  we,  "  the  great  summits  must 
look  peculiarly  grand  in  winter."  "  Guess  not,"  he  said,  "  it's  too 
'tamal  cold.  You  come  and  see  the  same  clouds  whirling  round  them 
peaks  three  weeks  at  a  time,  and  you'd  wish  the  hills  was  moved  oif 
and  dumped  somewhere  else."  The  good  old  fellow's  flesh  shuddered 
like  jarred  jelly,  while  he  told  us  of  the  hardships  of  winter  there,  as 
though  he  began  to  feel  already  the  biting  nor'westers  which  the 


THE   AND    OSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  255 

next  January  would  unleash  upon  the  hills.  Moreover  he  couldn't 
understand  what  so  many  people  from  Gorham,  especially  of  the 
"  female  sect,"  that  often,  he  said,  "  covered  them  rocks  six  and 
eight  at  a  time,"  came  to  Randolph  Hill  to  see. 

Every  symphony  should  have  a  sportive  movement.  But  it  must 
not  close  with  a  Scherzo.  As  we  turn  back  from  Randolph  Hill, 
and  descending,  lose  sight  of  the  base  which  the  summits  of  Adams 
and  Madison  crown,  let  us  hear  Wordsworth  interpret  what  such  hills 
should  be  in  a  long  acquaintance  : — 

I  could  not,  ever  and  anon,  forbear 

To  glance  an  upward  look  on  two  huge  peaks, 

That  from  some  other  vale  peered  into  this. 

"  Those  lusty  twins,"  exclaimed  our  host,  "  if  here 

It  were  your  lot  to  dwell,  would  soon  become 

Your  prized  companions. — I\Iany  are  the  notes 

Which,  in  his  tuneful  course,  the  wind  draws  forth 

From  rocks,  woods,  caverns,  heaths,  and  dashing  shores; 

And  well  these  lofty  brethren  bear  their  part 

In  the  wild  concert — chiefly  when  the  storm 

Rides  high;  then  all  the  upper  air  they  fill 

With  roaring  sound,  that  ceases  not  to  flow, 

Like  smoke,  along  the  level  of  the  blast, 

In  mighty  current;  theirs,  too,  is  the  song 

Of  stream  and  headlong  flood  that  seldom  fails; 

And,  in  the  grim  and  breathless  hour  of  noon, 

Methinks  that  I  have  heard  them  echo  back 

The  thunder's  greeting.     Nor  have  nature's  laws 

Left  them  ungifted  with  a  power  to  yield 

Music  of  finer  tone;  a  harmony. 

So  do  I  call  it,  though  it  be  the  hand 

Of  silence,  though  there  be  no  voice; — the  clouds, 

The  mist,  the  shadows,  light  of  golden  suns. 

Motions  of  moonlight,  all  come  thither — touch. 

And  have  an  answer — thither  come,  and  shape 

A  language  not  unwelcome  to  sick  hearts 

And  idle  spirits: — there  the  sun  himself. 

At  the  calm  close  of  summer's  longest  day, 

Rests  his  substantial  orb; — between  those  heights 

And  on  the  top  of  either  pinnacle. 

More  keenly  than  elsewhere  in  night's  blue  vanlt, 

Sparkle  the  stai's,  as  of  their  station  proud. 

Thoughts  arc  not  busier  in  the  mind  of  man 

Than  the  mute  agents  stirring  there: — alone 

Here  do  I  sit  and  watch." 


256  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

We  have  already  said  that  the  noble  scenery  for  which  Gorham 
should  be  visited  is  not  to  be  seen  from  the  hotel.  For  this  reason 
many  tourists,  not  attracted  strongly  by  the  views  from  the  platform 
where  the  cars  land  them,  hurry  away  in  the  stage  to  the  Glen,  and 
lose  the  enjoyment  of  some  of  the  richest  landscapes  which  New 
England  holds,  that  would  be  shown  to  them  by  short  drives,  or  even 
by  walks  that  may  be  taken  without  fatigue.  There  is  no  hint  at  the 
public-house  of  any  such  picture  as  we  have  just  attempted  to  de- 
scribe. There  is  no  suggestion  of  any  ridge,  or  bulwark,  or  crag,  of 
Mount  Madison  and  Mount  Adams.  Yet  a  level  walk  of  a  mile,  on 
the  road  along  the  Androscoggin,  brings  out  both  the  mountains  from 
base  to  crown.  If  they  Avere  visible  in  such  majesty  from  the  piazza 
of  the  hotel,  Ave  feel  sure,  that,  spacious  as  it  is,  it  Avould  not  be  large 
enough  to  accommodate  the  travellers  that  would  crowd  to  it.  No 
portion  of  Mount  Washington  is  in  sight  from  its  grounds  ;  yet  a  walk 
of  half  a  mile  below,  or  into  a  pasture  near,  with  an  easy  slope,  is 
repaid  by  one  of  the  most  impressive  views  of  its  dome  and  ravines 
that  can  be  gained. 

It  is  by  a  low  and  uninteresting  hill,  which  rises  directly  in  front 
of  the  hotel,  that  the  mountains  of  the  Washington  chain  are  thus 
concealed.  Back  of  the  house,  across  the  Androscoggin,  swells  the 
broad-based  Mount  Hayes.  Numerous  picturesque  spurs,  broken  by 
jutting  ledges,  whose  base  the  river  washes  in  its  downward  sweep, 
run  out  from  it  to  the  intervale,  and  fascinate  the  artists  by  the  "  sil- 
ver colonnades"  of  birch  which  they  uprear,  and  by  the  contrasts  of 
light  and  verdure  on  their  higher  turrets  of  rock. 

The  sky  along  the  northAvest  is  cut  by  the  grand  outline  of  the 
Pilot  Mountain  Avail.  This  ridge  is  remarkable  for  the  splendid 
shadows  from  clouds  that  wander  over  it  in  the  forenoons,  when  the 
northAvest  Avind  rolls  heavy  masses  of  the  cumuli  towards  Mount 
Washington.  It  has  one  other  distinction,  too,  Avhich  should  be 
known  by  all  visitors  of  the  valley.  The  deep  chasm  which  is  plainly 
seen,  in  a  clear  morning,  from  the  piazza  of  the  Alpine  House,  cut 
about  midway  of  the  long  battlement,  and  from  which  the  cloud- 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  257 

shadows  that  dip  into  it  often  spi^ead  each  way  upon  the  mountain, 
like  the  wings  of  a  tremendous  condor,  is  the  only  hiding-place  we 
have  ever  found  in  the  region,  where  the  winter  is  not  dislodged  by 
the  fogs  and  sun  of  August.  The  hollows  under  the  rocks  in  the 
upper  portions  of  the  ravine  are  ice-houses  that  never  fail.  On  the 
8th  day  of  September,  1858,  the  most  oppressive  day  of  the  season 
in  the  Androscoggin  Valley,  the  writer  explored  this  cleft,  and  found 
its  shadowed  side  so  cold  that  it  was  dangerous  to  rest  there  even  for 
a  few  moments, — so  chilly  was  the  breath  from  the  ice-blocks  be- 
tween the  immense  boulders,  which  the  winter  hides  there  in  the 
hope,  perhaps,  of  defying  the  sun  yet  with  a  ylacier  in  New  Hamp- 
shire. 

Southward  from  the  hotel,  Mount  INIoriah  and  Mount  Carter,  separ 
rated  from  each  other  by  another  eminence  called  "  The  Imp," 
tower  pretty  sharply,  and  form  one  of  the  walls  of  the  Glen.  The 
portions  of  this  range  that  rise  from  the  Peabody  Valley,  flare  out 
towards  their  tops  somewhat  like  a  half  tunnel,  as  from  a  common 
centre  below.  When  the  mists  or  fog-wreaths  ascend  from  it  in  the 
morning,  we  see  what  an  immense  caldron  is  rimmed  there  by  walls 
of  matted  wilderness  ;  and  in  the  evening,  when  a  storm  breaks  away, 
and  mists  pour  up  like  incense  from  those  deeps  to  the  level  of  the 
thin  summits  of  the  chain,  one  can  hardly  see  a  more  gorgeous  show 
of  color  than  is  given  in  the  green  shadows,  held  by  the  deep-cut 
stairways  of  Mount  Carter,  the  strong  and  brilliant  purple  that  floods 
its  crest,  and  the  amber  and  rose  with  which  the  mists  are  dyed  aa 
they  float  upward  to  thin  away  and  melt  into  the  blue. 

Mount  Moriah  itself  should  be  seen  from  the  bend  of  the  Andres 
coggin  River,  a  little  more  than  a  mile  north  of  the  hotel.  Here  its 
charming  outline  is  seen  to  the  best  advantage.  Its  crest  is  as  high 
over  the  valley  as  Lafayette  rises  over  the  Profile  House  ;  and,  with 
the  exception  perhaps  of  the  Mote  Mountain  in  North  Conway,  the 
long  lines  of  its  declivity  towards  the  east,  flow  more  softly  than  any 
others  we  can  recall.     They  wave  from  the  summit  to  the  valley  in 


258 


THE   WHITE    HILLS. 


curves  as  fluent  and  graceful  as  the  fluttering  of  a  long  pennant  from 
a  masthead.  The  whole  mass  of  the  mountain,  moreover,  is  clothed 
with  the  richest  foliage,  unscarred  by  any  land-shde,  unbroken  by 
any  ravages  of  storm  and  frost,  even  in  its  ravines. 

These  lines  look  peculiarly  charming  if  they  can  be  seen  when  a 


i^^'-^-^^     ^    ^^^^r-^. 


southerly  rain  is  just  commencing,  or  when  a  light  shower  falls  upon 
them,  but  does  not  wrap  the  ridge  in  cloud.  Does  the  reader 
remember  Leigh  Hunt's  description  of  a  sudden  shower  in  the 
country  ? 


As  I  stood  thus,  a  neighboring  wood  of  elms 
Was  moved,  and  stirred,  and  whispered  loftily 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  259 

Much  like  a  pomp  of  warriors  with  plumed  helms, 
When  some  great  general,  whom  they  long  to  see. 
Is  heard  behind  them,  coming  in  swift  dignity; 
And  then  there  tied  by  me  a  rush  of  air, 
That  stirred  up  all  the  other  foliage  there, 
Filling  the  solitude  witli  panting  tongues; 
At  which  the  pines  woke  up  into  their  songs. 
Shaking  their  choral  locks;  and  on  the  place 
There  fell  a  shade,  as  on  an  awe-struck  face; 
And  overhead,  like  a  portentous  rim 
Pulled  over  the  wide  world,  to  make  all  dim, 
A  grave,  gigantic  cloud  came  hugely  uplifting  him 

It  passed  with  its  slow  shadow;  and  I   saw 

Where  it  went  down  beyond  me  on  a  plain. 

Sloping  its  dusky  ladders  of  thick  rain; 

And  on  the  mist  it  made,  acd  blinding  awe. 

The  sun  reissuing  in  the  opposite  sky. 

Struck  the  all- colored  arch  of  his  great  eye. 

And  the  disburdened  country  laughed  again, 

The  leaves  were  amber;  the  sunshine 

Scored  on  the  ground  its  conquering  line; 

And  the  quick  birds,  for  scorn  of  the  great  cloud. 

Like  children  after  fear,  were  merry  and  loud. 

Frequently  it  has  been  our  fortune  to  see  a  shower  thus  sweep  down 
the  Androscoggin  Valley,  and  as  it  thinned  out,  trail  the  softest  veils 
over  the  Moriah  range.  And  how  much  more  gentle  and  soothing 
it?  outline  appeared  when  the  warm  rain-drops  were  tvoven  into  broad 
webs  of  gossamer  to  mark  the  ridges  more  distinctly,  line  behind  line, 
and  show  their  figure  in  more  refined  pencilling  against  the  damp 
sky! 

As  a  general  thing,  Gorham  is  the  place  to  see  the  more  rugged 
sculpturing  and  the  Titanic  brawn  of  the  hills.  Turning  from  North 
Conway  to  the  Androscoggin  Valley  is  somewhat  like  turning  from  a 
volume  of  Tennyson  to  the  pages  of  Carlyle ;  from  the  melodies  of 
Don  Giovanni  to  the  surges  of  the  Ninth  Symphony ;  from  the  art  of 
Raffaello  to  that  of  Michel  Angelo.  But  nothing  can  be  more  grace- 
ful and  seductive  than  the  flow  of  these  lines  of  Mount  Moriah  seer 
through  such  a  veil.  They  do  not  suggest  any  violent  internal  forces. 
It  should  seem  that  they  rose  to  melody,  as  when  Amphion  played  his 


260 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


lyre,  and  saw  the  stones  move  by  rhythmic  masonry  to  the  place 
where  they  were  wanted.  And  the  beauty  is  the  more  eifective  by 
contrast  with  the  sternness  and  vigor  of  the  Hnes  of  Adams  and  Mad- 
ison, that  can  be  seen  from  the  same  point  near  the  Androscoggin, 
where  we  suppose  ourselves  to  look  at  Mount  Moriah.  They  are 
Ebal,  representing  the  terrors  of  the  law ;  this  is  Gerizim,  the  hill  of 
blessing.     Or  shall  we  not  rather  contrast  Mount  Adams  and  Moimt 


Moriah  by  the  aid  of  a  charming  sonnet  of  Percival,  which  one  might 
think  had  been  written  at  evening,  in  full  view  of  these  rivals  in  the 
landscape,  where  the  Androscoggin  bends  around  Mount  Hayes. 


Behold  yon  hills.     The  one  is  fresh  and  fair; 

The  other  rudely  great.     New-springing  green 
Mantles  the  one;  and  on  its  top  the  star 

Of  love,  in  all  its  tenderest  light,  is  seen 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  261 

Island  of  joys!  how  sweet  tby  gentle  rays 

Issue  from  heaven's  blue  depths  in  evening's  prime 
But  round  you  bolder  height  no  softness  plays, 

Nor  flower  nor  bud  adorns  its  front  sublime. 
Rude,  but  in  majesty,  it  mounts  in  air. 

And  on  its  summit  Jove  in  glory  burns; 

'Mid  all  the  stars  that  pour  their  radiant  urns. 
None  with  that  lordly  planet  may  compare. 
But  see,  they  move;  and,  tinged  with  love's  own  hue, 
Beauty  and  Power  embrace  in  heaven's  serenest  blue. 

The  charming  picture  of  the  marriage  of  these  planets  reminds  us 
that  Ave  must  not  pass  Avithout  notice  the  loveliness  of  the  nights, 
when  the  full  moon  rises  over  the  ridge  of  Mount  Moriah  and  looks 
down  into  the  valley,  "  shut  out  from  the  rude  Avorld  by  Alpine 
hnis." 

See  yonder  fire!  it  is  the  moon 

Slow  rising  o'er  the  eastern  hill. 

It  glimmers  on  the  forest  tips, 

And  through  the  dewy  foliage  drips 

In  little  rivulets  of  light. 

And  malves  the  heart  in  love  with  nignt. 

We  do  not  know  any  other  resting-place  near  the  Washington  range, 
where  one  of  the  higher  hills  is  so  fortunately  related  to  the  land- 
scape, as  Mount  Moriah,  for  showing  the  peculiar  effect  of  the  moon 
upon  the  mountain  lines,  and  the  witcheries  of  its  refulgence  upon 
the  mountain  sides  and  ravines.  Kiarsarge  is  the  most  favorable 
eminence  from  which  to  look  down  upon  a  moonlight  landscape ;  Gor- 
ham  gives  the  best  position  for  enjoying  the  moonlight  upon  the  hills. 
Many  persons  imagine  that  the  mountains  must  seem  higher  under 
the  moon  than  in  the  daylight,  when  the  sun  shoAVS  all  their  fore- 
ground. But  the  moonlight  strangely  flattens  them.  They  do  not 
look  half  so  high  under  a  zenith  moon  as  in  the  noontime  of  a  clear 
day.  A  thick  air,  or  a  shoAver  streaming  before  them  and  taking 
out  much  of  their  robustness,  has  the  effect  of  lifting  them  much 
higher ;  but  when  all  color  is  draAvn  from  them,  and  they  stand  in 
mere  pencillings  of  black  shadoAV  and  silver,  their  outUnes  are  less 
firm,  and  they  are  lowered  into  mounds. 

36 


262 


THE    WHITE   HILLS. 


Yet,  to  an  artist's  eye,  the  effects  of  moonlight,  when  it  climbs 
from  behind  and  overflows  a  mountain,  are  unspeakably  fascinating 
There  is  quite  a  large  log-house  on  the  thin  crest  of  Mount  Moriah, 
and  once  in  the  season  the  full  moon  rises  directly  over  that  hut, — 


suggesting,  before  its  silver  edge  appears,  the  mediaeval  picture  of 
the  dark  head  of  a  saint  or  martyr,  circled  by  a  golden  nimbus. 


She  Cometh, — lovelier  than  the  dawn, 
In  summer,  when  the  leaves  are  green, 

More  graceful  than  the  alarmed  fawn, 
Over  his  gi"assy  supper  seen; 

Bright  quiet  from  her  beauty  falls. 


After  it  climbs  above  the  hut,  the  deep  blue  darkness  of  the  moun- 
tain begins  to  catch  delicate  tinges  of  the  pale,  weak  light  which  flows 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN  VALLEY.  263 

wider  and  freer  down  the  long  steep  slopes.  The  meadows  beneath 
look  level  as  a  floor,  and  are  laid  with  a  carpet  which  seems  to  be  an 
illusion  of  tender  green  grass,  and  light  gray  ground.  The  head  of 
the  Imp  catches  cool  tinges  of  the  pallid  lustre,  which  slowly  wanders 
down  and  off  into  the  great  caldron  we  have  spoken  of  under  the 
Carter  Mount.  And  as  it  descends,  the  exhalations  from  the  dusky 
depths,  born  from  the  invisible  streams,  that  sing  along  the  rugged 
beds  of  the  ravines,  rise  and  drink  the  moonlight  to  fulness,  and 
hang  before  the  mountains  as  though  they  might  be  woven  of  the 
very  texture  of  the  chaste  beams  that  are  falling  over  the  wilderness. 

And  now  in  the  daylight  let  us  make  an  excursion  to 


BERLIN  FALLS. 

If  there  were  no  other  attraction  in  the  Gorham  Valley,  part  of  a 
day,  at  least,  out  of  the  mountain  journey,  should  be  devoted  to  the 
village  for  the  sake  of  the  drive  to  this,  the  most  powerful  cataract 
of  the  mountain  region.  Cascades  we  can  see  in  other  districts  of 
the  hills.  The  Ammonoosuc  Falls  are  very  powerful  after  a  heavy 
rain,  though  the  turbidness  of  their  flood  gives  them  Uttle  beauty 
then.  But  here  we  have  a  strong  river  that  shrinks  but  very  little 
in  long  droughts,  and  that  is  fed  by  the  Umbagog  chain  of  lakes, 
pouring  a  clean  and  powerful  tide  through  a  narrow  granite  pass,  and 
descending  nearly  two  hundred  feet  in  the  course  of  a  mile. 

The  ride  to  the  Berlin  Falls  is  charming.  The  road  is  on  the 
western  bank  of  the  Androscogghi  all  the  way.  The  river  moves 
now  and  then  in  such  sweeping  curves,  and  is  overhung  for  most  of 
the  distance  by  a  mountain  with  foliage  so  massive  and  varied,  and 
the  gradual  descent  of  the  river-bed  gives  the  current,  during  a  great 
portion  of  the  way,  so  much  briskness,  while  the  mountain  views  be- 
hind are  so  majestic,  that  the  six  miles,  if  we  drive  in  an  open  wagon, 


264 


THE    WHITE    HILLS. 


do  not  seem  long  enough,  however  eager  we  may  have  been  to  see 
the  cataract.  There  is  no  hard  chmbing  or  long  walking  required, 
after  leaving  the  vehicle.     The  FaUs  are  close  by  the  road.     It  is  a 


winding  granite  gorge  through  which  the  river  rushes,  over  the  nar- 
rowest part  of  which  a  stout  bridge  is  thrown.  Visitors  should  alight 
at  the  lowest  part  of  the  cataract,  and  go  out  through  a  Uttle  thicket 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  265 

of  trees  upon  a  mossy  ledge,  about  jfifteen  feet  above  the  current, 
where  thej  can  face  the  sweepmg  torrent.  How  madly  it  hurls  the 
deep  transparent  amber  down  the  pass  and  over  the  boulders, — flying 
and  roaring  like  a  drove  of  young  lions,  crowding  each  other  in  furi- 
ous rush  after  prey  in  sight.  On  the  bridge,  we  look  down  and  see  the 
current  shooting  swifter  than  the  "  arrowy  Rhone,"  and  overlapped 
on  either  side  by  the  hissing  foam  thrown  back  from  each  of  the  rock 
walls.  Above  the  bridge,  Ave  can  walk  on  the  ledge  of  the  right- 
hand  bank,  and  sit  down  where  we  can  touch  the  water  and  see  the 
most  powerful  plunge  of  all,  where  half  of  the  river  leaps  in  a  smooth 
cataract,  and,  around  a  large  rock  which,  though  sunken,  seems  to 
divide  the  motion  of  the  flood,  a  narrow  and  tremendous  current  of 
foam  shoots  into  the  pass,  and  mingles  its  fury  at  once  with  the  bur- 
den of  the  heavier  fall. 

We  do  not  think  that  in  New  England  there  is  any  passage  of 
river  passion  that  will  compare  with  the  Berlin  Falls.  But  if  we 
stay  long  on  the  borders  of  the  gorge,  as  we  ought  to,  we  shall  find 
that  the  form  and  the  rage  of  the  current  are  subordinate  in  interest 
to  its  beauty  and  to  the  general  surrounding  charm.  Who  can  tire 
of  gazing  at  the  amber  flood,  from  the  point  first  described,  to  see 
the  white  frostwork  start  out  over  its  whole  breadth,  and  renew  itself 
as  fast  as  it  dies  ?  Fix  the  eye  upon  the  centre  of  that  flood,  and  it 
seems  to  be  a  flying  sheet  of  golden  satin,  with  silver  brocade  leaping 
out  to  overshoot  it,  as  it  hurries  from  its  loom.  An  artist,  with  whom 
more  than  once  we  have  rested  on  the  bank  to  catch  the  short-lived 
effects  on  the  shifting  currents  of  the  river,  speaks  of  the  charm  of 
"  the  foam  foliage,  white  and  prismatic,  that  crests  the  leaping  Avaves, 
running  from  fall  to  fall,  and  circling  dark  domes  of  water  that  re- 
volve over  submerged  stones."  He  recalls  the  grace  of  "  the  foun- 
tain jets  of  silver  spray,  and  of  the  ever-falling  crystal  fringes  .that 
hang  around  the  black  rocks."  And  he  tells  us  that,  at  such  a  spot, 
"  by  joining  somewhat  of  the  poet's  contemplation  to  the  artist's 
study,  we  may  see  glimpses  of  sylphic  shapes,  shining  in  the  dark- 
ness of  some  thin-curtained  arch,  or,  glancing  along  the  Hquid  coils 


266  THE   WHITE  HILLS. 

from  pool  to  pool,  nimbly  working  out  those  rapidly  changing  designs, 
whose  wondrous  beauty  and  inexhaustible  variety  are  not  inherent 
in  material  things,  but  are  possible  only  to  fairy  or  supernatural 
powers." 

Tlie  sides  of  the  rocks  through  which  the  Androscoggin  thus  pours 
are  charmingly  colored  "svith  lichens  and  weather-stains.  In  the  cran- 
nies and  little  juttings  on  the  sides  where  soil  has  lodged,  grasses, 
small  bushes,  and  wild  flowers  have  taken  root,  and  unfold  their  ver- 
dure and  beauty  undisturbed  by  the  wrath  below.  Out  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  walls,  young  birches  and  pines,  too,  have  stationed  them- 
selves to  catch  the  fresh  mists  that  rise.  It  was  a  cataract  in  Swit- 
zerland for  which  Wordsworth  wrote  the  following  sonnet ;  but  how 
could  it  be  more  appropriate  if  it  had  been  written  as  a  description 
of  the  torrent  in  whose  praise  we  quote  it  ?  What  more  can  we  say 
than  that  its  fitness  is  equal  to  its  beauty  ? 

From  the  fierce  aspect  of  this  River,  throwing 

His  giant  body  o'er  the  steep  rock's  brink, 

Back  in  astonishment  and  fear  we  shrink: 

But,  gradually  a  calmer  look  bestowing, 

Flowers  we  espy  beside  the  torrent  growing; 

Flowers  that  peep  forth  from  many  a  cleft  and  chink, 

And,  from  the  whirlwind  of  his  anger,  drink 

Hues  ever  fresh,  in  rocky  fortress  blowing: 

They  suck — from  breath  that,  threatening  to  destroy, 

Is  more  benignant  than  the  dewy  eve — 

Beauty,  and  life,  and  motions  as  of  joy: 

Nor  doubt  but  He  to  whom  j'on  Pine-trees  nod 

Their  heads  in  sign  of  worship,  Nature's  God, 

These  humbler  adorations  will  receive. 

Those  who  have  passed  a  dehghtful  hour  or  two  of  the  afternoon 
by  Berlin  Falls,  and  who  read  these  pages,  will  be  tempted  to  ask  us, 
as  we  now  turn  from  them,  "  Why  do  you  not  say  something  of  the  in- 
spiring view  of  Mounts  Madison  and  Adams,  whose  peaks,  seen  from 
the  bridge,  soar  with  such  proud  strength  in  the  western  sky  ?  Why 
do  you  not  call  attention  to  the  glorious  lines  that  support  their 
crests, — those  of  Madison  a  little  more  feminine  than  those  of  Adams, 
but  both  majestic, — a  lioness  and  lion  crouched  side  by  side,  half 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN  VALLEY.  267 

resting,  half  watching,  with  muscles  ready  in  a  moment  for  vigorous 
use  ?  Why  do  you  not  try  to  report  the  singular  charm  of  look- 
ing down  the  broad  stream,  roughened  with  foamy  rapids,  as  it  hur- 
ries towards  the  base  of  those  twin  crests,  and  of  the  rich  colors  that 
combine  in  the  harmony  of  the  picture, — the  snowy  caps  on  the  blue 
river,  the  green  banks,  the  gray  and  gold  of  the  mountain  slopes  and 
crowns  ? "  We  certainly  would  not  overlook  these  features  of  the 
landscape  at  Berlin  Falls  ;  but  we  have  a  richer  pleasure  in  store  for 
our  readers  by  inviting  them  to  take  with  us 


A   DRIVE   TO   MILAN. 

It  disturbs  our  geographical  prejudices  a  little,  perhaps,  to  be  told 
that  only  six  or  seven  miles  divide  settlements  with  such  distinguished 
names.  But  it  will  help  us  to  discriminate  if  we  learn  to  pronounce 
these  names  as  the  Yankees  do,  with  the  accent  strong  on  the  first 
syllable.  We  should  look  in  vain  for  any  imperial  palace  as  we  drive 
through  our  Berlin  ;  and  instead  of  a  university  we  shall  see  only  a 
cluster  of  saw-mills,  where  part  of  the  forests  of  Umbagog  are  pre- 
pared for  service  to  civilization.  So  too,  if  we  should  ride  to  the  very 
borders  of  Milan,  we  might  not  find  in  the  red  spire  of  the  village 
church  that  would  greet  us,  the  artistic  satisfaction  which  one  would 
anticipate  from  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Buomo,  which  we  associate 
with  the  capital  of  Lombardy.  (A  wicked  friend  of  ours  who  took 
the  drive  with  us,  when  the  village  first  saluted  our  eyes  remarked, 
that  this  Milan  seemed  to  be  set  in  the  plain  of  Lumber-dy.) 

But  we  will  not  drive  so  far  as  the  village.  We  will  "  follow  the 
road"  about  two  miles  above  Berlin  Falls,  cross  the  large,  covered 
bridge  of  the  Androscoggin,  and  drive  about  two  miles  above  that  on 
the  eastern  bank  of  the  river.  Then  we  will  turn  the  horses'  heads 
again  towards  Gorham.     Now  look  down  the  river  towards  the  moun- 


2G8 


THE    WHITE   HILLS. 


tains  !  Do  we  see  the  two  peaks  that  were  so  fascinating  at  the 
Falls  below  ?  They  have  received  an  addition  to  their  company. 
There  are  three  now.  Mount  Washington  has  lifted  his  head  into 
sight  behind  Madison,  and  has  pushed  out  the  long  outline  of  the 


ridge  that  climbs  from  the  Pinkham  forest,  and  by  all  the  stairways 
of  his  plateaus,  to  his  cold  and  rugged  crown.  What  a  majestic 
trio  !  What  breadth  and  mass,  and  yet  what  nervous  contours  ! 
The  mountains  are  arranged  in  half  circle,  so  that  we  see  each  sum- 
mit perfectly  defined,  and  have  the  outline  of  each  on  its  character- 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  269 

istic  side  lying  sharp  against  the  sky, — Adams  as  it  is  braced  from 
the  north,  Madison  from  the  southeast,  Washington  from  the  south. 
They  hide  the  other  summits  of  the  range  completely.  And  from 
our  position  we  look  down  the  long  avenue  of  hills  that  guard  the 
Androscoggin,  and  over  the  wilderness  from  which  they  spring,  and 
see  them  from  a  height  very  favorable  for  revealing  their  elevation, 
and  through  a  sufficient  depth  of  air  to  give  them  both  distinctness 
and  bloom. 

Is  it  not  something  to  mourn  over,  that  the  spectacle  of  this 
bivouac  of  hills  should  have  been  so  seldom  seen  by  tourists  in  New 
Hampshire  ?  Many  thousands  visit  the  White  Mountains  in  the 
summer  weeks,  and  not  fifty  have  as  yet  looked  upon  this  land- 
scape, so  easily  attained  by  a  drive  of  an  hour  and  a  half  from  the 
hotel  in  Gorham.  Up  to  the  time  of  our  writing  these  pages,  more 
people  in  England  have  enjoyed  this  view  through  a  painting  of  it 
by  the  artist  whose  sketch  is  here  presented  to  our  readers,  and  who 
sent  it  abroad  in  answer  to  an  order,  than  in  our  own  country  have 
seen  the  Creator's  original.  We  shall  be  glad  if  anything  in  this 
unworthy  description  proves  a  temptation  to  future  visitors  of  the 
eastern  valley  of  the  mountains  to  take  this  drive  towards  Milan  in  a 
clear  afternoon,  and  thus  add  such  a  powerful  combination  of  the 
mountain  forms,  dimpled  and  flushed  too  with  countless  shadows  and 
tints,  to  the  treasures  of  their  memory. 

It  is  worth  while  to  take  the  additional  few  miles  of  ride  above 
Berlin  Falls  to  the  point  where  we  are  now  resting,  in  order  to  see 
the  river  so  calm.  On  a  still  afternoon  it  sleeps  here  as  though  it 
had  not  been  troubled  above,  and  had  no  more  hard  fortune  to  en- 
counter below.  This  level  passage  in  its  history,  where  it  coaxes  the 
grasses  and  trees  of  its  shores  do"\vn  into  its  silence,  as  the  water- 
spirit  of  Goethe's  ballad  seduced  the  Fisher  into  the  stream,  is  kin- 
dred with  the  quiet  of  the  English  river,  above  its  cataract,  which 
Wordsworth  thus  describes  : — 

The  old  inventive  Poets,  had  they  seen, 
Or  rather  felt,  the  eptrancement  that  detains 
37 


270  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

Thy  waters,  Duddon!  'mid  these  flowery  plains-, 
The  still  repose,  the  liquid  lapse  serene, 
Transferred  to  Lowers  imperishably  green, 
Had  beautified  Elysium !     But  the  chains 
Will  soon  be  broken; — a  rough  course  remains, 
Rough  as  the  past;  where  Thou,  of  placid  mien, 
Innocuous  as  a  firstling  of  the  flock. 
And  countenanced  like  a  soft  cerulean  sky, 
Shalt  change  thj'  temper;  and  with  many  a  shock 
Given  and  received  in  mutual  jeopardy, 
Dance,  like  a  Bacchanal,  from  rock  to  rock, 
Tossing  her  frantic  thyrsus  wide  and  high! 


But  our  readers,  whom  we  have  specially  invited  as  guests  on  this 
excursion,  must  not  be  kept  out  after  dark.  We  shall  have  the  late 
hours  of  the  afternoon  for  a  slow  drive  down  to  Gorham,  and  a  short 
call  again  upon  the  falls  in  Berlin  on  the  way.  Of  course  our  read- 
ers all  know  that  about  six  in  the  evening  of  a  midsummer  day  is  the 
time  for  a  drive.  From  five  to  half-past  seven  is  worth  all  the  rest 
of  the  day.  Nature,  as  Willis  has  charmingly  said,  pours  the  wine 
of  her  beauty  twice  a  day, — in  the  early  morning,  and  evening,  when 
the  long  shadows  fall.  In  the  mountain  region  the  saying  is  more 
strictly  true, — not  only  as  to  shadows,  but  in  regard  to  colors.  Her 
richest  flasks  are  reserved  for  the  dessert-Jiour  of  the  day's  feast. 
Then  they  are  bountifully  poured. 

Then  flows  amain 
The  surge  of  summer's  beauty;  dell  and  crag, 
Hollow  and  lake,  hill-side,  and  pine  arcade, 
Are  touched  with  genius. 

Yes  indeed,  it  is  the  wine  of  beauty  that  is  poured  out  around  the 
valley  now.  Who  can  give  the  key  to  that  magic  of  the  evening  sun 
by  which  he  sheds  over  the  hills  the  most  various  juices  of  light  from 
his  single  urn  ?  Those  substantial  twin  majesties,  Madison  and  Ad- 
ams, have  a  steady  preference  for  the  brown-sherry  hues, — though 
round  their  bases  they  are  touched  with  an  azure  that  is  held  in  dark 
sapphires,  but  never  was  caught  by  any  wine.     The  Androscoggin 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  271 

hills  take  to  the  lighter  and  brilhant  yellows,  the  hocks  and  cham- 
pagne ;  the  clarets,  the  Red  Hermitage,  the  purple  Burgundies, 
seem  to  be  monopolized  hy  the  ridge  of  Mount  Carter  and  Mount 
Mori  ah. 

Would  that  it  could  be  our  fortune  to  see  on  the  Mount  Moriah 
range,  before  we  reach  the  hotel,  a  counterfeit  such  as  we  once  saw 
at  sunset,  of  the  majesty  and  splendor  of  Mont  Blanc  at  evening ! 
The  clouds  piled  themselves  over  the  long  range  as  if  they  were 
organized  into  the  mountain, — as  if  they  were  ridges  and  pinnacles 
draped  with  snow.  Back  of  them  lay  a  sky  perfectly  clear,  but 
not  blue  ;  it  was  green, — such  green  as  you  see  in  the  loop  of  a 
billow  about  to  break  in  foam  on  a  shelving,  rocky  shore.  The  west 
was  drenched  in  peach  bloom  ;  and  over  the  whole  mass  of  the 
towering  fleece  that  mimicked  Mont  Blanc,  was  spread  a  golden 
flush  just  ready  to  flicker  into  rose-color,  that  was  as  glorious  as 
any  baptism  of  splendor  upon  Chamouni ;  and  which  faded  away 
to  leave  a  death  pallor  as  mournful  as  the  upheaved  snows  of 
Switzerland  can  show,  after  the  soul  of  sunshine  has  mounted  from 
their  crests. 

And  let  us  have  the  privilege  of  describing  what  we  cannot  hope 
to  see  again,  a  spectacle  upon  one  portion  of  the  Mount  Moriah 
range,  which  has  made  one  return  ride  to  Gorham,  from  Berhn  Falls, 
an  enduring  pleasure.     Thus  we  wrote  of  it  at  the  time  : — 

"  The  vapors  hung  in  heavy  masses  over  the  principal  ridges,  but 
the  west  was  clear.  There  was  evident  preparation  for  a  magnificent 
display, — a  great  banquet  by  the  sun  to  the  courtier  clouds,  on  retir- 
ing from  office  that  day, — a  high  carnival  of  light.  As  I  turned  the 
horse  towards  Gorham,  taking  the  Moriah  range  full  in  view,  a  slight 
shower  began  to  fall  down  the  valley  of  Mount  Carter,  and  a  patch 
of  rainbow  flashed  across  the  bosom  of  the  mountain.  From  point  to 
point  it  wandered,  uncertain  where  to  '  locate,'  but  at  last  selected 
a  central  spot  against  the  lowest  summit,  and  concentrated  its  splen- 
dors. 

"  The  background  of  the  mountain  was  blue-black.    Not  a  tree  was 


272  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

visible,  not  an  irregularity  of  the  surface.  It  was  one  smooth  mass 
of  solid  darkness,  soft  as  it  was  deep.  And  the  iris  was  not  a  bow, 
but  a  yillar  of  light.  It  rested  on  the  ground  ;  its  top  did  not  quite 
reach  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  With  what  intense  delight  we 
looked  at  it,  expecting  every  instant  that  its  magic  texture  would  dis- 
solve !  But  it  remained  and  glowed  more  brightly.  I  can  give  you 
no  conception  of  the  brilliancy  and  delicacy,  the  splendor  and  softness, 
of  the  vision.  The  rainbow  on  a  cloud,  in  the  most  vivid  display  I 
ever  saw  of  it,  was  pale  to  this  blazing  column  of  untwisted  light. 
The  red  predominated.  Its  intensity  increased  till  the  mountain 
shadow  behind  it  was  black  as  midnight.  And  yet  the  pillar  stood 
firm.  '  Is  not  the  mountain  on  fire  ? '  said  my  companion.  '  Cer- 
tainly that  is  flame.'  Five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  fifteen  minutes, 
the  gorgeous  vision  staid,  and  we  steadily  rode  nearer.  Really  we 
began  to  feel  uneasy.  We  expected  to  see  smoke.  The  color  was 
so  intense  that  there  seemed  to  be  real  danger  of  the  trees  kindling 
under  it.  We  could  not  keep  in  mind  that  it  was  celestial  fire  we 
were  looking  at, — fire  cool  as  the  water-drops  out  of  which  it  was 
born,  and  on  which  it  reclined.  It  lay  apparently  upon  the  trees, 
diffused  itself  among  them,  from  the  valley  to  the  crown  of  the  ridge, 
as  gently  as  the  glory  in  the  bush  upon  Horeb,  when  '  the  angel  of 
the  Lord  appeared  unto  Moses  in  a  flame  of  fire,  out  of  the  midst  of 
a  bush ;  and  he  looked,  and  behold  the  bush  burned  with  fire,  and 
the  bush  was  not  consumed.' 

"  It  seemed  like  nothing  less  than  a  message  to  mortals  from  the  in- 
ternal sphere, — the  robe  of  an  angel,  awful  and  gentle,  come  to  bear 
a  great  truth  to  the  dwellers  in  the  valley.  And  it  was,  no  doubt. 
It  meant  all  that  the  discerning  eye  and  reverent  mind  felt  it  to  mean. 
That  Arabian  bush  would  have  been  vital  with  no  such  presence,  per- 
haps, to  the  gaze  of  a  diSerent  soul.  '  To  him  that  hath  shall  be 
given.'  A  colder,  a  skeptical  spirit  would  have  said,  possibly, 
'  there  is  a  curious  play  of  the  sunbeams  in  the  mist  about  that 
shrub,'  or,  it  may  be,  would  have  decided  that  he  was  the  victim  of 
an  optical  illusion,  and  so  would  have  missed  the  message  to  put  the 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN  VALLEY.  273 

shoes  from  his  feet,  because  the  place  was  holj  ground.  Nearly 
twenty  minutes  the  pUlar  of  variegated  flame  remained  in  the  valley 
of  Mount  Carter,  as  if  waiting  for  some  spectator  to  ask  its  purpose, 
and  listen  for  a  voice  to  issue  from  its  mystery.  Then,  lifting  itself 
from  its  base,  and  melting  gradually  upwards,  it  shrunk  into  a  narrow 
strip  of  beauty,  leaped  from  the  mountain  summit  to  the  cloud,  and 
vanished. 

"  It  seems  difficult  to  connect  such  a  show,  in  memory,  with  '  Gor- 
ham,' — so  hard  a  name,  a  fit  title  for  a  rough,  grovdng  Yankee  vil- 
lage. But  such  is  the  way  the  homeliest  business  is  glorified  here  ; 
such  is  the  way  the  ideal  world  plays  out  visibly  over  the  practical, 
in  all  seasons,  and  every  day.  Only  have  an  eye  in  your  head  com- 
petent to  appreciate  the  changes  of  light,  the  richness  of  shadows, 
the  sport  of  mists  upon  the  hills,  and  you  can  look  up  every  hour, 
here,  from  the  rough  fences  and  uncouth  shops  of  Yankee  land,  to 
the  magic  of  fairy  land.  While  that  show  was  in  the  height  of  its 
splendor,  I  asked  an  old  farmer,  who  was  hauling  stones  with  his 
oxen,  what  he  thought  of  it.  He  turned,  snatched  the  scene  with 
his  eye,  and  said  indifferently,  '  It's  nice,  but  we  often  have  'em 
here  ;  gee-haw,  wo-hush  !  '  Yes,  that's  just  the  truth.  '  We  often 
have  'em,' — often  have  the  glories  of  the  Divine  art,  passages  of  the 
celestial  magnificence,  playing  over  our  potato  fields  ;  therefore  the 
us  pay  no  attention  to  them, — count  them  as  matters  of  course,  keep 
coolly  at  our  digging,  and  wait  for  something  more  surprising  to  jar 
us  from  our  skepticism,  shatter  the  crusts  of  the  senses,  wake  us  to  a 
feeling  of  mystery,  and  startle  us,  through  fear,  into  a  behef  or  con- 
sciousness of  God. 

"  The  iris-pillar  suggested  the  burning  bush  on  Horeb.  As  I  close 
this  letter,  that  passage  broadens  to  my  thought,  into  a  symbol  of  a 
mightier  truth.  What  statement  is  so  competent  as  that  to  set  forth 
the  relation  of  the  Creative  Spirit  to  the  universe  ?  In  Moses'  time, 
nature,  in  the  regard  of  science,  was  a  mere  bush,  a  single  shrub. 
Now  it  has  grown,  through  the  researches  of  the  intellect,  to  a  tree. 
The  universe  is  a  mighty  tree  ;  and  the  great  truth  for  us  to  connect 


274  THE  WHITE   HILLS. 

with  the  majestic  science  of  these  days,  and  to  keep  vivid  by  a  relig- 
ious imagination,  is,  that  from  the  roots  of  its  mystery  to  the  sUver- 
leaved  boughs  of  the  firmament,  it  is  continually  filled  with  God,  and 
yet  unconsumed." 

r 

■  At  the  commencement  of  this  chapter  we  alluded  to  the  beauty  of 
the  drive  from  Bethel  to  the  hotel  in  Gorham.  One  of  the  promi- 
nent resources  of  a  visitor  who  stays  a  week  or  two  at  the  Alpine 
House,  is  a  ride  of  ten  or  twelve  miles  down  the  Androscoggin  on  its 
right-hand  bank,  through  Shelburne  to  Gilead,  and  then  up  the  river 
on  the  easterly  bank,  crossing  it  again  at  Lead-Mme  bridge.  This 
drive  can  be  taken  before  sunset  on  a  long  summer  day,  by  leaving 
the  Alpine  House  just  after  dinner.  And  no  drive  of  equal  length 
among  the  mountains  offers  more  varied  interest  in  the  beauty  of  the 
scenery,  the  historic  and  traditional  associations  involved  with  the 
prominent  points  of  the  landscape,  and  the  scientific  attractions  con- 
nected with  some  portions  of  the  road. 

In  Shelburne,  a  small  Adllage  six  miles  below  Gorham,  the  driver 
will  point  out  the  remains  of  a  boulder,  which,  before  it  was  blown 
for  use  on  the  railroad  track,  overhung  a  ledge  that  has  received  the 
name  of  "  Granny  Starbird,"  or  as  it  is  sometimes  spelled,  "  Granny 
Stalbird."  She  was  the  first  woman  who  climbed  through  the  great 
White  Mountain  Notch,  from  Bartlett, — a  feat  which  she  accomplished 
in  1776,  on  her  way  to  Dartmouth  (now  Jefferson)  to  serve  in  the 
family  of  Col.  Whipple.  Many  years  afterwards,  when  a  widow,  she 
became  very  skilful  as  a  doctress,  and  often  travelled  great  distances 
on  horseback  to  visit  the  scattered  settlers  in  their  sickness.  When 
she  was  very  old,  she  was  sent  for  to  visit  a  sick  person  below  Shel- 
burne, but  was  overtaken  in  the  night  by  a  tremendous  thunderstorm. 
The  rain  and  wind  were  so  furious  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
keep  the  road  against  it,  and  she  drove  her  horse  under  the  boulder 
that  overhung  this  ledge,  and  stood  by  him,  holding  the  bridle,  all 
night.  The  wind  howled  frightfully  around  her,  and  the  lightning 
showed  her  rivulets  tearing  across  the  road  to  swell  the  Androscog- 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  275 

gin  ;  but  the  hardy  old  heroine  faced  it  without  dismay,  and  did  not 
leave  the  rude  shelter  until  noon  of  the  next  day,  when  the  storm 
abated.  The  builders  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway  through  Shel- 
burne  ought  to  be  indicted  for  blasting  that  rock,  which  belonged  to 
the  poetry  of  the  mountains,  when  any  common  granite  of  the  neigh- 
borhood could  as  easily  have  served  their  prosaic  needs. 

The  history  of  Shelburne,  as  of  Bartlett  and  Bethlehem,  startles 
us  with  the  records  of  suffering  which  the  pioneers  in  the  mountain 
valleys  were  willing  to  undergo  in  establishing  homes  there.  In 
1781,  a  man,  with  a  wife  and  three  children,  moved  into  Shelburne 
when  the  snow  was  five  feet  deep  on  the  ground,  and  the  Andros- 
coggin was  a  bed  of  ice.  The  mother  carried  the  youngest  child, 
nine  months  old,  in  her  arms  ;  a  boy  of  four  and  a  girl  of  six  trudged 
by  her  side.  Their  shelter  was  a  wretched  cabin  with  just  enough 
rough  shingles  laid  across  some  poles  on  the  top,  to  cover  a  space 
large  enough  for  a  bed.  Their  cow  was  provided  with  a  large  square 
hole  in  the  snow  covered  with  poles  and  boughs. 

The  stories  of  the  ravages  of  bears  and  wolves  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Shelburne  are  more  striking  than  those  recorded  of  any  other  por- 
tions of  the  mountains.  On  the  drive  from  Gorham  to  Gilead,  the 
wagon  passes  a  portion  of  the  road  where  a  pack  of  wolves  attacked 
an  Indian,  and  killed  and  devoured  him,  but  not  till  they  had  lost 
seven  of  their  starving  band  in  the  encounter ;  and  to  their  other 
afflictions,  the  early  settlers  of  this  neighborhood  were  troubled,  as 
those  in  the  Bartlett  Valley  were  not,  by  Indian  invasions.  They 
experienced  not  only  the  hardships  of  isolation  and  cold,  and  the 
plunder  of  wild  beasts,  and  the  ravage  of  mountain  torrents,  and  the 
desolation  of  freshets,  but  they  knew  the  terror  of  the  war-whoop, 
and  some  of  their  number  felt  the  scalping-knife  and  tomahawk,  as 
Avell  as  the  horrors  of  Indian  captivity.  The  last  of  the  outrages  by 
the  savage  tribes  in  New  Hampshire  broke  upon  the  settlements 
along  the  Androscoggin  above  Bethel.  In  August  of  1781  a  band 
of  Indians  made  an  attack  upon  Bethel,  and  after  plundering  some  of 


276  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

the  settlers,  and  taking  others  with  them  as  captives,  came  up  through 
Gilead,  murdered  one  of  the  hardy  settlers  there,  robbed  the  cabin 
of  the  family  that  had  moved  into  Shelburne  on  the  snow,  and  car- 
ried their  prisoners  by  Umbagog  Lake  into  Canada.  When  the  pool 
captives  were  so  worn  down  with  the  march  through  the  wilderness, 
and  the  loads  which  the  savages  laid  upon  them,  that  they  were 
ready  to  faint  with  fatigue  and  hunger,  the  brutes  would  broil  old 
moccasons  of  mooseskin,  tainted  by  the  heat,  for  their  food.  One  of 
the  party  who  escaped  describes  the  hideousness  of  a  war-dance  in 
which  the  Indians  disported  themselves,  in  one  of  the  rocky  passes 
through  which  they  were  taken.  He  says,  "  It  almost  made  our  hair 
stand  upright  upon  our  heads.  It  would  seem  that  Bedlam  had 
broken  loose,  and  that  hell  was  m  an  uproar."  During  one  of  the 
carousals  the  Indians  amused  themselves  with  throwing  firebrands  at 
a  negro  called  Black  Plato,  whom  they  set  up  as  a  mark.  The  man 
who  gives  us  this  account  returned  to  the  old  neighborhood  on  the 
Androscoggin,  and  hved  many  years  to  tell  of  the  hardships  of  the 
first  settlers,  and  to  see  pleasant  villages  and  fruitful  fields  adorn  and 
enrich  a  large  portion  of  the  valley,  through  which  he  and  his  party 
were  hurried  in  1781. 

And  yet  no  Indian  tragedy  is  so  frightful  as  the  civilized  one  which 
is  connected  with  Gilead  below  Shelburne,  and  whose  date  is  as 
recent  as  June,  1850.  Here  a  Mr.  Freeman  Hved,  with  a  young  and 
beautiful  wife  and  three  children.  He  was  a  blacksmith,  and  was 
employed  in  the  service  of  the  company  that  were  building  the  rail- 
road from  Portland  to  Montreal.  A  contractor  on  the  railroad 
boarded  in  his  family.  This  man  succeeded  in  ahenating  the  affec- 
tion of  the  young  wife  from  her  husband,  and  soon  after  left  the  vil- 
lage for  New  York.  The  young  husband,  who  was  passionately 
devoted  to  his  wife,  found  very  soon  that  she  had  lost  all  interest 
m  him  and  in  her  children.  At  last,  after  insisting  on  a  divorce, 
to  which  he  would  not  listen,  she  told  him  that  she  should  leave 
his   house,  and  commenced  preparations  for  a  journey.     A  trunl 


THE    ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  277 

arrived,  which  Mr,  Freeman  intercepted,  in  which  he  found  beauti- 
ful dresses  and  jewelry  for  his  wife,  and  a  letter  from  the  contractor 
making  an  appointment  to  meet  her  in  Syracuse  in  New  York.  Mrs. 
Freeman  did  not  learn  of  the  arrival  of  the  trunk  or  letter.  But 
she  still  insisted  on  leaving  her  husband,  and  even  informed  him  on 
what  day  she  shovild  depart.  On  the  night  previous  the  young  husband 
sat  up  very  long  in  conversation  with  his  wife,  and  after  she  went  to 
her  chamber,  he  left  the  house.  But  who  is  that  peering  into  the 
window  when  the  light  is  out,  and  all  is  still  ?  About  midnight,  the 
piercing  shriek  rose  from  her  room,  "  I  am  murdered  !  "  She  was 
found  with  her  arm  shattered,  and  her  head  wounded  by  a  charge  of 
buckshot,  that  had  been  fired  through  the  window  from  a  musket 
which  had  evidently  been  aimed  with  care  at  her  heart.  "  It  was 
my  husband,"  she  said  to  those  that  gathered  in  the  room.  "  And 
will  he  not  come  ?  Oh,  George,  my  dear  husband,  shall  I  not  see 
him  to  be  forgiven  ? ''  She  died  before  dawn,  without  any  reproaches 
for  her  murderer,  and  with  his  name  on  her  hps.  Many  hours  after, 
the  husband  was  found  dead,  about  a  mile  from  his  house,  and  in  his 
hand  the  fatal  razor  that  had  relieved  his  agony.  The  tragedy  was 
deliberately  planned  ;  for  in  his  house  were  found  letters  that  con- 
tained directions  in  regard  to  his  children,  and  the  disposition  of  his 
property. 

Let  us  drive  now  across  the  river,  with  the  horses'  heads  tow- 
ards Gorham  again,  and  make  our  first  halt  near  the  house  of  Mr. 
Gates  in  Shelburne,  under  the  shadow  of  Baldcap  Mountain,  If  we 
had  time  to  speak  of  the  view  from  the  summit,  which  requires  about 
two  hours'  climbing,  we  should  need  words  more  rich  than  would 
come  at  our  bidding.  But  how  grand  and  complete  is  the  landscape 
that  stretches  before  us  as  we  look  up  the  river  seven  or  eight  miles 
to  the  base  of  Madison  and  to  the  bulk  of  Washington,  whose  majes- 
tic dome  rises  over  two  curving  walls  of  rock,  that  are  set  beneath  it 
like  wings !  Seen  in  the  afternoon  light,  the  Androscoggin  and  its 
meadows  look  more  lovely  than  on  any  portion  of  the  road  between 

38 


278 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


Bethel  and  Gorham,  and  more  fascinating  than  any  piece  of  river 
scenery  it  has  ever  been  our  fortune  to  look  upon  in  the  mountain 
region.     The  rock  and  cascade  pictures  in  the  forests  of  Baldcap 


well  reward  the  rambles  of  an  hour  or  two.  Boarders  for  the  sum- 
mer, at  moderate  price,  have  been  taken  at  Mr.  Gates's,  and  we  do 
not  know  of  any  farm-house  where  the  view  from  the  door  offers  so 
many  elements  of  a  landscape  that  can  never  tire. 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  279 


THE   LEAD-MINE   BRIDGE 

is  reached  by  driving  two  miles  in  the  direction  of  Gorham.  The 
mine  itself  from  which  the  bridge  is  named  is  about  a  mile  dis- 
tant, in  a  ravine  of  mica-slate  rocks.  Although  the  ore  is  quite 
plentiful,  and  contains  three  pounds  of  silver  to  the  ton,  it  seems  that 
it  cannot  be  profitablj  wrought,  and  it  is  abandoned  now.  But  in 
the  afternoon  of  a  sunny  day,  when  the  mountain  summits  are  not 
covered,  every  ravine  on  the  distant  sides  of  Madison  and  Washington 
is  a  quarry  of  beauty.  The  whole  substance  of  these  mountains 
seems  then  to  be  literally  precious  stones.  They  stand  out  in  the 
same  shape  as  when  seen  from  the  Gates  cottage  two  miles  back. 
We  do  not  have  so  much  of  the  river  and  meadows  in  vicAv  as  from 
the  high  bank  there ;  but  we  are  close  to  the  stream  on  the  bridge  ; 
we  see  it  before  us  breaking  around  several  charming  islands,  and 
then  flowing  with  deep  and  melodious  gurgle  into  one  tide  again, 
which  hurries  down  towards  Gilead. 

This  is  one  of  the  favorite  excursions  from  Gorham.  The  bridge 
is  only  four  miles  distant  from  the  hotel,  and  the  drive  is  easily  made 
in  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  The  best  time  to  make  the  visit  is  be- 
tween five  and  seven  of  the  afternoon.  Then  the  lights  are  softest, 
and  the  shadows  richest  on  the  foliage  of  the  islands  of  the  river,  and 
on  the  lower  mountain  sides.  And  then  the  gigantic  gray  pyramid 
of  Madison  with  its  pointed  apex,  back  of  which  peers  the  ragged 
crest  of  Adams,  shows  to  the  best  advantage.  It  fills  up  the  whole 
distance  of  the  scene.  The  view  is  one  of  uncommon  simphcity  and 
symmetry.  The  rolling  slopes  upon  the  base  of  Mount  Moriah  on 
one  side,  and  the  jutting  spurs  of  Mounts  Hayes  and  Baldcap  on  the 
other,  compose  an  efiective  avenue  through  which  the  eye  roams  up- 
ward to  the  higher  mountain  that  sits  back  as  on  a  throne.  Our 
readers  will  remember  that  a  sketch  of  it  is  given  in  the  introductory 
chapter,  on  the  ninth  page.     But  if  the  sketch  were  thrice  as  good, 

88* 


280  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

it  could  not  give  adequate  suggestion  of  a  view  which  at  once  takes 
the  eye  captive,  and  not  only  claims  front  rank  among  the  richest 
landscapes  that  are  combined  in  New  Hampshire  out  of  the  White 
Mountains  and  the  streams  they  feed,  but  impresses  travellers  that 
are  fresh  from  Europe  as  one  of  the  lovehest  pictures  which  have  been 
shown  to  them  on  the  earth.  For  the  artist's  purpose,  the  middle 
distance  is  not  sufficiently  effective,  and  the  river  is  nowhere  quiet 
enough  to  balance  the  ripples  and  broken  hghts  of  the  foreground ; 
but  for  eye-landscape,  to  be  enjoyed  without  reference  to  the  demands 
of  the  canvas,  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  a  scene  where  greater 
beauty  of  river  and  islands  is  crowned  with  a  mountain  so  bold  and 
yet  so  tenderly  tinted,  so  symmetrical  and  still  so  masculine,  so  satis- 
factory in  height  without  losing  on  the  surface  clearness  and  vigor  of 
detail. 

Ah,  what  charming  effects  have  we  not  seen  on  Mount  Madison 
from  this  bridge,  conjured  by  the  clouds  and  sun  !  The  gold  on  the 
sharp  apex  of  its  pyramid  in  the  early  morning ;  the  ever-shifting  per- 
plexity of  lights  and  gloom  investing  it  in  a  sultry  noon  when  thun- 
der-clouds sail  over  it ;  and  at  sunset  once  or  twice  in  dogdays,  vol- 
cano-pictures, when  piles  of  vapor  that  towered  over  it  and  buried 
the  summit  were  lurid  around  the  lower  edges,  and  seemed  to  burst 
from  a  fiery  heart  within,  as  the  sides  of  the  mountain  were  kindled 
almost  to  a  ruby  hue  by  the  last  beams  of  day  !  It  is  not  a  single 
mountain,  but  a  gallery  of  pictures,  that  Madison  stands  for  in  our 
memory.  See  it  in  a  clear  and  tender  afternoon,  and  how  deli- 
cately every  lower  ridge  in  its  foreground  is  hinted  by  the  western 
light,  that  reveals  no  shrub,  no  forest,  no  precipice,  but  only  symme- 
try and  softness,  and  a  proud  height  in  perfect  proportion  with  its 
mass  and  slope,  piercing  an  azure  heaven  with  a  double  peak  of  ten- 
der brown  !  We  may  measure  its  altitude  now  in  feet  by  our  aagles, 
and  find  that  its  summit  is  nearly  a  mile  from  the  level  where  we 
stand  ;  we  may  exhaust  what  science  can  tell  of  its  substance  and 
strata ;  but  all  the  truths  of  its  structure  are  nothing  to  the  expres- 
sion it  wears  in  tliis  favorable  air.     As  it  sits  enthroned  thus  over 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  281 

the  stream  and  farms  whose  green  and  silver  wind  up  to  its  base,  can 
it  be  the  mountain  which  looks  so  desolate  in  the  ride  to  the  Glen, 
that  is  pathless  and  savage  to  the  feet  of  the  climber,  that  stands  out 
so  uglj  in  the  forenoon  light,  which,  lying  stern  upon  it,  makes  its 
harsh  crest  look  covered  with  soiled  sole-leather  ?  Now,  as  we  gaze 
upon  it,  we  see  what  it  was  really  made  for.  Although  it  wears  no 
snow,  it  recalls  Tennyson's  Unes  : — 

How  faintly  flushed,  how  phantom  fair 
Was  Monte  Rosa,  hanging  there 
A  thousand  shadowy  pencilled  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  the  golden  air. 

Its  divine  gala-dress  is  upon  it.  Its  desolate  rocks  have  ripened. 
Art  has  flowered  out  of  the  bitter  geological  stem.  Its  strata  and 
truth,  and  all  its  endowments  for  use,  are  merely  the  rough  touches  of 
the  brush,  intended  to  be  viewed,  not  near  the  canvas,  but  a  few 
miles  distant,  that  they  may  be  smoothed  and  shaded  into  unspeak- 
able beauty.  And  the  colors,  too  !  What  nettings  of  pale  gold 
upon  the  sloping  edges  of  its  lesser  peaks  of  azure,  when  the  late 
afternoon  light  glances  down  its  eastern  side !  Or,  if  a  large  mass 
of  cloud  has  covered  it  in  deep  blue  shade,  and  the  sun  finding  a 
small  opening,  pours  through  a  widening  cone  of  rays,  how  will  the 
lower  towers  and  domes  of  the  mountain  temple  blaze  out  in  splen- 
did radiance,  hke  gilded  roofs  with  gemmy  walls  !  It  is  as  if  the 
3un  had  said, 

0  thou  afflicted,  beaten  with  the  storm! 

Behold  I  lay  thy  stones  in  cement  of  vermilion, 

And  thy  foundations  with  sapphires. 

And  I  will  make  thy  battlements  of  rubies, 

And  thy  gates  of  carbuncles. 

And  all  thy  borders  full  of  precious  stones! 

One  spectacle  which  it  was  our  fortune  to  witness  from  the  Bridge 
repeats  itself  more  frequently  than  any  other  before  our  eyes  : — a 
sudden  showei;  driving  down  the  valley,  completely  hiding  the  moun- 
tain with  gusts  of  rain, — the  gradual  thinning  of  the  wet  veil,  till  the 


282  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

outline  of  the  beautiful  pyramid  of  Madison  is  seen  dim  and  lofty  on 
its  pedestal, — the  soft  blue  sky  of  evening  revealed  again  through  the 
cloudy  west  behind  it, — and  when  the  rain  entirely  ceased,  the  rising 
of  most  delicate  mists  from  the  surface  of  the  mountain,  to  be  smitten 
by  the  sun,  which  breaks  through  a  cloud-rift,  so  that  they  hang 
over  the  broad  pile  as  a  veil  of  silver  gossamer,  say  rather,  a  tex- 
ture of  light  itself — hght  condensed  into  a  gleaming  web,  almost  too 
bright  for  a  steady  gaze !  The  mountain  seemed  transfigured.  It 
was  not  so  much  swathed  with  splendor,  as  translucent.  One  might 
have  thought  he  was  looking  through  some  rent  in  the  curtain  of 
matter,  upon  a  celestial  hill,  sacred  as  Tabor  once  was,  with  "  gar- 
ments white  and  glistening." 

Yet  we  ought  not  to  be  so  engrossed  with  the  distant  magnificence 
as  to  overlook  the  beauty  of  the  ledge  in  front  of  the  Lead-Mine 
Bridge,  around  which  the  river  sweeps  with  strong  and  melodious 
swirl.  If  we  will  sit  down  upon  it  and  study  it  carefully  for  a  few  min- 
utes, our  eyes  may  be  opened  to  the  beauty  of  rock  scenery  in  many 
a  mountain  walk  or  climb,  especially  if  we  let  light  fall  upon  it  from 
this  passage  of  Ruskin  :  "  When  a  rock  of  any  kind  has  lain  for  some 
time  exposed  to  the  weather,  Nature  finishes  it  in  her  own  way ;  first, 
she  takes  wonderful  pains  about  its  forms,  sculpturing  it  into  exqui- 
site variety  of  dint  and  dimple,  and  rounding  or  hollowing  it  into 
contours,  which  for  fineness  no  human  hand  can  follow  ;  then  she 
colors  it ;  and  every  one  of  her  touches  of  color,  instead  of  being  a 
powder  mixed  with  oil,  is  a  minute  forest  of  living  trees,  glorious  in 
strength  and  beauty,  and  concealing  Avonders  of  structure,  which  in 
all  probability,  are  mysteries  even  to  the  eyes  of  angels.  Man  comes 
and  digs  up  this  finished  and  marvellous  piece  of  work,  which  in  his 
ignorance  he  calls  a  '  rough  stone.'  He  proceeds  to  finish  it  in  Ids 
fashion,  that  is,  to  split  it  in  two,  rend  it  into  ragged  blocks,  and, 
finally,  to  chisel  its  surface  into  a  large  number  of  lumps  and  knobs, 
all  equally  shapeless,  colorless,  deathful,  and  frightful.  And  the 
block,  thus  disfigured,  he  calls  '  finished,'  and  proceeds  to  build 
therewith,  and  thinks  himself  great,  forsooth,  and  an  intelligent  ani- 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  •  283 

mal.  Whereas,  all  that  he  has  really  done  ia,  to  destroy  with  utter 
ravage  a  piece  of  divine  art,  which,  under  the  laws  appointed  by  the 
Deity  to  regulate  his  work  in  this  world,  it  must  take  good  twenty 
years  to  produce  the  hke  of  again.  This  he  has  destroyed,  and  has 
himself  given  in  its  place  a  piece  of  Avork  which  needs  no  more  intel- 
ligence to  do  than  a  pholas  has,  or  a  worm,  or  the  spirit  which 
throughout  the  world  has  authority  over  rending,  rottenness,  and  de- 
cay. I  do  not  say  that  stone  must  not  be  cut ;  it  needs  to  be  cut 
for  certaua  uses  ;  only  I  say  that  cutting  it  is  not  '  finishing,'  but  un- 
finishing,  it ;  and  that  so  far  as  the  mere  fact  of  chiselling  goes,  the 
stone  is  ruined  by  the  human  touch.  It  is  with  it  as  with  the  stones 
of  the  Jewish  altar,  '  If  thou  Uft  up  thy  tool  upon  it  thou  hast  polluted 
it.'  In  hke  manner  a  tree  is  a  finished  thing.  But  a  plank,  though 
ever  so  polished,  is  not.  We  need  stones  and  planks,  as  we  need 
food  ;  but  we  no  more  bestow  an  additional  admirableness  upon  stone 
in  hewing  it,  or  upon  a  tree  in  sawing  it,  than  upon  an  animal  in 
killing  it." 

One  could  sit  on  this  rock  and  watch  the  curves,  and  listen  to  the 
luscious  tones  of  the  Androscoggin,  and  find  that  the  hours  glide 
away  hke  minutes.  Is  it  a  lurking  feeling  of  the  analogy  between 
life  arid  a  river  that  makes  a  mountain  stream  so  fascinating  to  us 
all  ?  The  Androscoggin  has  its  source  in  distant  lakes  of  Maine. 
Our  life  is  at  first  a  tiny 

silver  stream, 
Bi-eaking  in  laughter  from  the  lake  divine 
Whence  all  things  flow. 

It  flows  narrow  and  babbling  under  the  leafy  shelter  of  home.  It 
swells  hke  the  Androscoggin  into  rapid  and  noisier  youth,  with  head- 
long dashes  of  adventure,  and  the  iris-tinged  hours  of  poetic  enthu- 
siasm and  hope.  It  settles,  as  its  tributaries  increase,  into  the  fuller 
and  calmer  stream,  hiding  more  force,  and  serving  nobler  uses  ;  and 
so,  bearing  down  on  its  bosom  and  in  its  depths  the  qualities  and  the 
energy  of  its  earlier  hours  and  experience,  it  tends  steadily  towards 
the  sea. 


284  THE   WHITE  HILLS. 

A  friend  of  ours  once  said,  when  he  stood  with  us  on  a  lovely  after- 
noon upon  the  Lead-Mine  Bridge,  that  the  supreme  luxury  of  a  sum- 
mer life  to  him  would  be  realized,  if  he  could  own  a  cottage,  with  a 
well  selected  library,  two  or  three  miles  below  this  bridge  on  the  An- 
droscoggin, and  could  float  at  evening  in  a  boat  down  the  stream  from 
tlje  foot  of  BerUn  Falls,  while  the  sun  was  "  flattermg  the  mountain 
tops,"  reaching  his  house  in  season  to  have  an  hour  or  two  before 
bedtime  with  Tennyson  and  Shelley.  Mr.  Trench,  the  English  poet 
and  theologian,  has  enlarged  the  conception  which  our  friend  had 
shaped.  He  tells  us  that  he  behoves  nature  has  no  ampler  dower  of 
sights  and  solemn  shows  than  would  be  disclosed 

to  them,  who  night  and  day  — 
An  illimitable  way — 
Should  sail  down  some  mighty  river, 
Sailing  as  to  sail  forever. 


Morn  has  been — and  lo!  how  soon 
Has  an-ived  the  middle  noon. 
And  the  broad  sun's  rays  do  rest 
On  some  naked  mountain's  breast, 
Where  alone  relieve  the  eye 
Massive  shadows,  as  they  lie 
In  the  hollows  motionless; 
Still  our  boat  doth  onward  press: 
Now  a  peaceful  current  wide 
Bears  it  on  an  ample  tide; 
Now  the  hills  retire,  and  then 
Their  broad  fronts  advance  again. 
Till  the  rocks  have  closed  us  round. 
And  would  seem  our  course  to  boanrf 
But  anon  a  path  appears, 
And  our  vessel  onward  steers, 
Darting  rapidly  between 
Narrow  walls  of  a  ravine. 

Mom  has  been  and  noon — and  now 
Evening  falls  about  our  prow: 
'Mid  the  clouds  that  kindling  won 
Light  and  fire  from  him,  the  Sun 
For  a  moment's  space  was  lying, 
Phoenix  in  his  own  flames  dying! 
And  a  sunken  splendor  still 
Burns  behind  the  western  hill: 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN    VALLEY.  286 


Lo!  the  starry  troop  again 

Gather  on  the  ethereal  plain; 

Even  now  and  there  were  none 

And  a  moment  since  but  one; 

And  anon  we  lift  our  head, 

And  all  heaven  is  overspread 

With  a  still-assembling  crowd, 

With  a  silent  multitude — 

Venus,  first  and  brightest  set 

In  the  night's  pale  coronet, 

Armed  Orion's  belted  pride, 

And  the  Seven  that  by  the  side 

Of  the  Titan  nightly  weave 

Dances  in  the  mystic  eve, 

Sisters  linked  in  love  and  light. 

'Twere  in  truth  a  solemn  sight, 

Were  we  sailing  now  as  they, 

Who  upon  their  western  way 

To  the  isles  of  spice  and  gold, 

Nightly  watching    might  behold 

These  our  constellations  dip, 

And  the  great  sign  of  the  Ship 

Rise  upon  the  other  hand. 

With  the  Cross,  still  seen  to  stand 

In  the  vault  of  heaven  upright, 

At  the  middle  hour  of  night — 

Or  with  them  whose  keels  first  prest 

The  huge  rivers  of  the  West, 

Who  the  first  with  bold  intent 

Down  the  Orellana  went,* 

Or  a  dangerous  progress  won 

On  the  mighty  Amazon, 

By  whose  ocean-streams  they  told 

Of  the  warrior-maidens  bold. 

Bui  the  Fancy  may  not  roam; 
Thou  wilt  keep  it  nearer  home, 
Friend,  of  earthly  friends  the  best 
Who  on  this  fair  river's  breast 
Sailest  with  me  fleet  and  fast, 
As  t'^e  unremitting  blast 
With  a  steady  breath  and  strong 
Urges  our  light  boat  along. 
We  this  day  have  found  delight 
In  each  pleasant  sound  and  sight 
Of  this  river  bright  and  fair, 

•  See  Garcilasso's  Conquest  of  Peru. 


286  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

And  in  things  which  flowing  are 

Like  a  streum;  yet  without  blame  ^ 

These  my  passing  song  may  claim, 

Or  thy  Iiearing  may  beguile, 

If  we  not  forget  the  while, 

That  we  are  from  childhood's  mom 

On  a  mightier  river  borne, 

Which  is  rolling  evermore 

To  a  sea  without  a  shore: 

Life  the  river,  and  the  sea 

That  we  seek — eternity. 

We  may  sometimes  sport  and  play, 

And  in  thought  keep  holiday, 

So  we  ever  own  a  law. 

Living  in  habitual  awe, 

And  beneath  the  constant  stress 

Of  a  solemn  thoughtfulness — 

Weighing  whither  this  life  tends, 

For  what  high  and  holy  ends 

It  was  lent  us,  whence  it  flows, 

And  its  current  whither  goes. 

There  are  two  or  three  other  excursions  to  be  made  from  Gorham, 
which  deserve  more  copious  treatment  than  our  limits  will  permit. 
The  ascent  of  Mount  Madison,  and  the  drive  to  the  village  of  Jeffer- 
son, and  thence  over  Cherry  Mountain  to  the  Notch,  we  shall,  have 
occasion  to  describe  in  another  connection.  We  must  devote  a  page 
or  two,  however,  to 


MOUNT  SURPRISE. 

Mr.  Eastman's  Guide-book  calls  attention  to  this  eminence,  and  it 
does  not  exaggerate  the  interest  of  the  ride,  or  the  beauty  of  the 
view  which  the  summit  discloses.  It  is  a  portion  of  the  general  mass 
of  Mount  Moriah,  but  has  acquired  a  separate  name  from  the  fact 
that  it  has  a  distinct  summit  which,  a  few  years  ago,  was  generously 
cleared  of  trees  for  visitors  by  fire  and  gale.  The  distance  to  the 
top  is  two  miles  and  a  quarter  from  the  hotel,  requiring  a  horseback 
ride  of  an  hour,  or  a  walk  of  an  hour  and  a  half.     The  forest^patb 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  287 

itself — unequalled  so  far  as  we  know  in  the  whole  mountain  tour — is 
lovelj  enough  to  tempt  a  visitor,  independently  of  the  prospect  from 
the  crown. 

Looking  up  the  valley  of  the  Peabody,  we  see  the  five  highest 
peaks  of  the  Washington  range,  but  a  full  view  is  given  of  two  only, — 
Madison,  the  Apollo  of  the  highlands,  and  the  Herculean  structure 
of  Washington,  with  his  high,  hard  shoulders  and.  stalwart  spurs. 
There  are  very  few  hills  of  moderate  height  accessible  by  bridle- 
paths, from  which  a  good  view  of  any  portion  of  the  great  ra  \ge  can 
be  gained, — positions  near  enough  to  reveal  the  extent  and  h\  shness 
of  the  forests,  and  yet  far  enough  to  allow  the  effect  of  height  and 
symmetry.  We  know  of  none  so  favorable  in  both  these  respects  as 
Mount  Surprise.  It  ought  to  be  to  Gorham  what  Mount  Willard  is 
to  the  Notch.  Possibly,  if  a  good  wagon-road  were  constructed  to 
the  summit,  it  might  become  in  time  the  rival  excursion  to  ihat  on 
the  eastern  side.  Certainly  after  several  visits  to  Mount  Willard, 
when  the  senses  have  become  used  to  the  impression,  at  first  so  start> 
ling,  made  by  looking  over  the  cliff  into  the  awful  gulf  of  the  Notch, 
the  view  gained  there  of  the  summits  of  the  Washington  chain,  espe- 
cially of  Mount  Jefferson,  is  more  fascinating  to  an  artistic  taste. 
And  Mount  Surprise  gives  a  still  more  striking  spectacle.  Plain 
prose,  however  eloquent,  is  no  fit  medium  to  describe  that  proud 
smooth  swell  of  Madison  .rom  the  Peabody  Valley  to  a  peak  that 
pricks  the  sky.  It  needs  rhythm  ;  it  needs  the  buoyant  surge  of  a 
blank  verse  like  that  of  Coleridge,  to  ensoul  the  fascination  of  that 
soaring  beauty,  which  spires  at  last  into  granite  grandeur.  There  is 
no  point  among  the  New  Hampshire  hills  where  the  "  hymn  in  the 
valley  of  Chamouni"  breaks  from  the  heart  to  the  lips  so  readily  as 
here. 

And  if  one  wants  to  see  forest-costume  in  the  utmost  richness  of 
folds  and  retinue,  let  him  look  at  the  broad  miles  of  wilderness  that 
flow  down  the  opposing  sides  of  Carter  and  Madison.  Was  it  for  the 
sake  of  mountain  outlines  chiefly,  or  rather  to  exhibit  such  a  luxu- 
riant drapery  of  blended  birch,  maple,  and  evergreen,  that  the  tumult 

39* 


288  THE   WHITE   RILLS. 

was  first  stirred  beneath  this  soil  ?  One  is  tempted  to  believe  that 
those  two  points — the  tops  of  Carter  and  Madison — were  lifted  up 
gentlj  from  the  level  land  at  first,  and  held  off  from  each  other  just 
far  enough  to  let  the  forests  droop  in  the  most  gracious  folds  from 
them,  and  meet  with  trails  soft  as  velvet  upon  the  valley.  Can  we 
wonder  that  the  love  of  elegant  dress  is  a  permanent  passion  in  half 
the  human  race,-  when  the  dumb  hills  are  attired  in  apparel  so  shape- 
ly, and  so  richly  and  variously  hued  ?  The  ballrooms  of  Saratoga 
could  not  outshine  the  splendors  of  color  displayed  in  a  season  upon 
Mount  Carter.  And  is  human  nature  to  be  abased  by  the  gorgeous 
costuraes  that  counterfeit  the  most  precious  satins,  cloths,  and  shawls, 
which  the  tilted  granite  is  allowed  to  wear  ? 

Ah,  and  what  intensity  of  expression  in  the  ragged  crest  of  Adams, 
which  starts  out,  it  may  be,  from  a  melting  fog,  and  overtops  the 
gentler  slopes  of  Madison ;  and  what  energy  in  those  far-running 
southward  braces  of  Washington,  engraved  perhaps  upon  a  white 
cloud-background, — each  worn  to  the  rocky  bone  by  the  torrents  of 
summer,  and  the  slower  but  more  penetrative  wrath  of  winter  cold  I 
It  is  indeed  rich  music  for  the  eye  that  is  afibrded  by  the  quintette 
of  summits  seen  from  Mount  Surprise  ;  and  one  who  can  detect 
some  dim  analogy  between  tones  and  forms  will  find  increased  de- 
light here  in  seeing  how,  in  the  mountain  choir,  the  sharp  soprano  of 
Madison  is  brought  into  contrast  and  balance  with  the  heavy  bass  of 
Washington,  and  how  the  body  of  the  harmony  is  filled  up  by  the 
tenor  of  Adams,  the  baritone  of  Jefferson,  and  the  alto  of  Clay,  whose 
bulk  and  lines  are  merely  suggested  by  their  crests  that  jut  into  view. 

But  a  sweeter  melody  still  is  ofiered  to  the  eye  that  turns  from  the 
great  hills  to  the  Androscoggin  intervale.  It  is  the  strength  that 
"  setteth  fast  the  mountains  "  which  appeals  to  us  on  the  west ;  on 
the  east  we  have  the  smile  of  the  landscape,  the  fluent  curves  of  a 
river  moving  "  like  charity  among  its  children  dear,"  the  sweet 
phrases  which  man  has  added  to  the  wild  natural  music,  the  colors 
vivid  and  tender  that  glow  upon  winding  miles  of  shorn  grass  and 
ripening  grain.     No  mountain  so  high  as  Washington  can  offer,  in  its 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  289 

comprehensive  pageant,  any  one  passage  so  lovely  as  this  nearer 
view  from  Mount  Surprise  of  the  farms  that  border  the  Androscoggin. 
Here  the  infinite  goodness  responds  by  appropriate  symbols  to  the 
infinite  majesty  which  is  represented  by  the  barren  hills.  The  spirit 
of  the  eighteenth  psalm  seems  to  brood  over  the  torn  and  desolate 
ridge  where  the  thunder-clouds  crouch ;  but  it  is  the  eloquence  of  the 
sixty-fifth  that  streams  from  the  softer  section  of  the  scene  below : 
"  Thou  visitest  the  earth,  and  waterest  it :  thou  greatly  em-ichest  it 
with  the  river  of  God,  which  is  full  of  water :  thou  preparest  them 
com,  when  thou  hast  so  provided  for  it.  Thou  waterest  the  ridges 
thereof  abundantly  :  thou  settlest  the  furrows  thereof :  thou  makest 
it  soft  with  showers :  thou  blessest  the  springing  thereof.  Thou 
crownest  the  year  with  thy  goodness  ;  and  thy  paths  drop  fatness. 
They  drop  upon  the  pastures  of  the  wilderness  ;  and  the  little  hills 
rejoice  on  every  side.  The  pastures  are  clothed  with  flocks  ;  the 
valleys  also  are  covered  over  with  corn ;  they  shout  for  joy  ;  they 
also   sing." 

It  is  often  true,  however,  so  far  as  the  stimulant  of  the  poetic 
mood  is  concerned,  that  a  part  is  greater  than  the  whole.  One  sub- 
ordinate feature  of  a  landscape  may  prove  more  fruitful  of  inspiration 
than  the  general  splendor  in  which  it  is  inclosed.  In  the  forest  of 
Mount  Surprise  we  meet,  here  and  there,  a  pine  or  spruce  veiled 
with  drooping  moss.  The  last  walk  it  was  our  fortune  to  enjoy 
through  the  ascending  aisle  of  the  woods,  was  in  company  with  the 
writer  of  the  following  exquisite  poem,  to  which,  however,  we  must 
take  this  exception, — that  if  its  wish  were  fulfilled,  a  life  would  be 
cancelled  from  the  conscious  world,  strong  in  its  native  stock  as  the 
oak',  and  graceful  in  its  culture  as  the  elm.  The  author  is  Rev.  Dr. 
Hedge  of  Brookline,  to  whom  also  we  are  indebted  for  the  transla 
dons  from  Goethe  on  pp.  93  and  154. 

I  would  1  were  yon  lock  of  moss 

Upon  the  tressdd  pine, 
Free  in  the  buxom  air  to  toss, 

And  with  the  breeze  to  twine. 


^90  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

High  over  earth  my  pendent  life 

From  care  and  sorrow  free, 
Should  reck  no  more  the  creature's  strite 

With  time  and  Deity. 

No  thought  to  break  my  perfect  peace, 

Born  of  the  perfect  whole, 
From  thought  and  will  a  long  release, — 

A  vegetable  soul. 

Thus  would  I  live  my  bounded  age 

Far  in  the  forest  lone, 
Erased  from  human  nature's  page. 

Once  more  the  Godhead'?'  own. 

And  now  we  must  ask  the  reader's  attention  to  the  view  from  the 
summit  of 

MOUNT  HAYES, 

which  is  so  remarkable  that  it  should  by  no  means  be  passed  by. 
This  is  part  of  the  record  which  the  writer  once  made  of  his  first 

A  ("f^i/c    acquaintance  with    that  view,   in   company  with  the    artist   whose 

'    ■'  "        sketches  are  engraved  for  this  volume. 

"  Mount  Hayes  takes  its  name  from  the  excellent  woman  whom 

visitors  in  Gorham,  some  three  years  since,  have  occasion  to  remem- 

,     , ,    ber  with  gratitude  as  a  hostess  of  the  hotel.     It  is  now  her  monu- 

\^  V^  ment.  You  remember  it,  doubtless,  as  the  scarred  and  savage  emi- 
nence that  rises  pretty  sharply  from  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Andros- 
'  coggin,  and  directly  overlooks  the  Alpine  House.  Its  height  is 
probably  not  far  from  twenty-five  hundred  feet.  Two  huge  ledges  of 
bare  and  jagged  rock,  some  two  miles  apart,  that  clamp  it  to  the 
valley,  look  like  the  carved  paws  of  a  colossal  lion  in  repose.  Over 
it  the  desolate  crest  soars  like  a  bald  eagle's  head  and  beak ; 
so  that  it  sits  a  monstrous  griffin  overlooking  the  village,  and  com- 
manding the  sweep  of  the  river  for  twenty  miles.  The  ancient 
mythology  pictures  the  griffin  as  the  guardian  of  hidden  treasures ; 
and  in  this  sense  also  the  mountain  admirably  fulfils  the  symbolism 
of  its  form. 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY. 


•IQI 


"  I  had  beard  frequently  from  some  of  the  old  settlers  here  that  the 
mountain  was  remarkable  for  bears,  blueberries,  and  views,  and  de- 
sired to  make  the  ascent  of  it  last  year ;  but  no  good  opportunity 
affered  when  a  guide  could  go.  The  other  day,  an  artist  friend  of 
mine  here  was  told  that  if  we  could  get  across  the  Androscoggin, 
about  a  mile  above  the  Alpine_ House,  we  should  find  a  sled-path  to 


the  summit,  and  could  easily  reach  it  in  an  hour  and  a  half.  This 
determined  my  friend  and  myself  to  start  about  ten  in  the  hot  fore- 
noon, with  the  hope  of  bringing  back  a  memory  full  of  beauty  to  a 
•rather  late  dinner.  The  paddling  'across  the  hurrying  river  by  a 
Oackwoods-Charon,  in  a  boat  of  quite  primitive  structure, — being  three 
pieces  of  rough  pine  board  nailed  together,  with  Uberal  provision  for 


292  THE  WHITE  HILLS. 

leaks, — was  deciededly  intresting,  especially  for  the  picture  it  gave  ua 
of  Mount  Moriah,  rising  directly  from  the  cool  and  curving  flood, 
that  seems  to  bend  out  of  its  track  to  meet  the  stream  which  pours 
down  from  those  deep  green  dells.  No  excursion  could  have  a  more 
charming  commencement. 

"  On  the  other  side  of  the  Androscoggin,  we  found  the  hint  of  a 
path  that  led  us  to  the  first  ledge  ;  but  there  all  trace  of  it  ceased. 
The  heat  was  torrid.  Should  we  return  ?  We  had  taken  no  lun- 
cheon ;  we  were  not  sure  of  finding  water ;  we  had  no  guide  ; — before 
us  was  a  wall  of  forest,  with  here  and  there  a  patch  of  ledge  pro- 
truding through  it,  from  which  we  might  make  an  observation.  So 
in  the  hope  of  a  large  dividend  at  the  summit,  we  determined  to  in- 
vest liberally  in  a  scramble,  and  started  on  a  '  bee-line '  for  the  crest. 
My  dear  editorial  friend,  a  young  forest  looks  poetic  in  the  distance, 
especially  if  it  is  a  birch  one,  and  dteeps  itself  every  evening  in  yel- 
low sunset  light.  But  attempt  to  go  through  one,  where  no  path  has 
been  bushed  out,  and  your  admiration  will  be  cut  down,  as  Carlyle 
would  say,  '  some  stages.'  What  with  dead  trunks  that  promise 
foothold,  and  in  which  you  slump  to  the  knees  ;  chevaux  de  frise  of 
^i-reat  charred  logs  that  bristle  with  sharp  black  spikes ;  openings  of 
tall  purple  fireweed,  hiding  snags  that  pierce  through  your  boots  ; 
snaky  underbrush  that  trips  you  ;  intertangled  young  limbs  that  fly 
back  and  switch  your  eyes  ;  rocks  half  covered  with  moss  that  wrench 
the  ankles ;  slanting  sticks  that  lie  in  wait  for  your  pantaloons,  and 
force  you  to  deduct  a  large  tare  before  you  get  your  accurate  net 
benefits  from  the  expedition  ; — the  poetry  of  wild  forest-clambering 
turns  out  pretty  serious  prose.  It  is  about  like  fighting  a  phalanx  of 
porcupines.'  For  nearly  three  hours  of  a  sultry  midday,  we  were 
wrestling  thus  with  the  wilderness,  without  water,  in  order  to  win 
the  secret  of  its  summit. 

"  But  we  were  trebly  rewarded  by  the  vision  that  burst  upon  us, 
as  we  stood  on  the  cro^vn  of  the  rocky  precipice  that  plunges  from 
the  mountain  peak.  The  rich  upland  of  Randolph,  over  which  the 
ridges  of  Madison  and  Adams  heave  towards  the  south,  first  holds 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLP:Y.  293 

the  eye.  Next  the  singular  curve  in  the  blue  Androscoggin  around 
the  Larj  farm,  archmg  like  a  bow  drawn  taut.  Directly  beneath  us 
lay  two  islands  in  the  river, — one  of  a  diamond  shape,  the  other  cut 
precisely  like  a  huge  kite,  and  fringed  most  charmingly  with  green. 
Do^vn  the  valley,  Shelburne,  Gilead,  West  Bethel,  and  Bethel  w^ere 
laid  into  the  landscape  with  rich  mosaics  of  grove,  and  grass,  and 
ripening  grain, — needing,  as  my  artist  companion  said,  a  brush  dipped 
in  molten  opal  to  paint  their  wavering,  tremulous  beauty.  Directly 
opposite,  seemingly  only  an  arrow-shot's  distance,  were  the  russet 
ravines  of  Moriah  and  the  shadow-cooled  stairways  of  Carter. 

"  But  such  sights  as  these  I  have  often  had  before.  The  great 
reward  of  the  scramble  was  that  it  gave  me  my  frst  view  of  Mount 
Washington.  I  mean  to  say  that,  from  no  other  point  where  I 
have  had  the  fortune  to  stand,  does  it  rise  before  you  from  valley 
to  crown  in  imperial  estate.  Perhaps  you  remember  Punch's  advice 
to  the  splendid  Koh-i-noor  jewel  in  the  Crystal  Palace,  which  did  not 
flash  as  it  should  have  done,  among  the  other  gems  :  '  If  you  are  the 
great  diamond  of  the  world,  why  don't  you  behave  as  such  9 '  Mount 
Washington  is  the  sovereign  dome  of  New  England,  but  it  is  very 
difficult  to  make  him  behave  '  as  such.'  In  the  Glen,  Mount  Adams 
looks  higher  and  more  proud.  Seen  from  North  Conway,  he  is  not 
isolated  from  the  rest  of  the  range,  and  wears  no  grandeur  about  the 
summit.  At  Lancaster  he  looks  humpbacked.  In  Shelburne  he 
appears  heavy  and  dowdy.  From  Bethlehem  he  shows  grand  height, 
but  unsatisfactory  form.  The  village  of  Jeflferson,  on  the  Cherry 
Mountain  road,  about  thirteen  miles  from  Gorham,  furnishes  the  best 
position  for  studying  his  lines  and  height  in  connection  with  the  rest 
of  the  range.  But  Mount  Hayes  is  the  chair  set  by  the  Creator  at 
the  proper  distance  and  angle  to  appreciate  and  enjoy  his  kingly 
prominence. 

"  All  the  lower  summits  are  hidden,  and  you  have  the  great  ad- 
vantage of  not  looking  along  a  chain,  but  of  seeing  the  monarch  him- 
self soar  alone,  back  of  Madison  and  Adams  and  seemingly  discon- 
nected with  them,  standing  just  enough  to  the  south  to  allow  an 

40 


294  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

unobstructed  view  of  the  ridges  that  climb  from  the  Piukham  road 
up  over  Tuckerman's  ravine,  to  a  crest  moulded  and  poised  "vvith 
uadescribable  stateliness  and  grace.  It  completely  dimmed  the  glory 
of  Mount  Adams.  The  eye  clung  ever  fascinated  and  still  hungry 
upon  those  noble  proportions  and  that  haughty  peace.  We  were  just 
far  enough  removed  to  get  the  poetic  impression  of  height  which 
vagueness  and  airy  tenderness  of  color  give.  The  day  was  perfect 
for  such  effects.  If  I  had  been  told  that  the  dome  was  ten  or  twelve 
thousand  feet  high,  I  should  not  have  been  disappointed.  Arithmetic 
was  out  of  the  account.  It  was  satisfactory,  artistic,  mountain- 
eminence  and  majesty  that  we  Avere  gazing  upon.  Ah,  Avhat  ripples 
of  mystic  light,  waking  colors  uncertain,  momentary,  but  ecstatic, 
would  run  in  the  warm  noon,  over  that  serene  pinnacle  !  And  yet  we 
knew  that  feet  were  climbing,  tired  and  faint,  up  its  jagged  desolation, 
and  savage  gales,  possibly,  were  howling  over  the  rocks,  as  though 
art  and  joy  have  no  right  on  this  rough  globe  !  How  delicately  the 
shadows  were  tinted,  to  our  eyes,  in  dimples  of  that  crest,  which 
were  fissures  scarred  with  land-slides  and  threatened  by  tottering 
crags  !  Was  not  the  pleasure  the  more  subtle  to  us  because  we 
knew  that  the  splendor  was  illusion  ?  And  yet  was  not  the  seeming 
illusion  nobler  truth  than  the  near  and  accurate  reality  ?  In  the 
Creator's  estimate  of  this  globe,  is  it  not  probable  that  Mount  Wash' 
ington  is  a  picture,  rather  than  some  thousands  of  cubic  rods  of 
rock  ?  " 

We  have  alluded  frequently  to  the  riches  of  color  with  which  the 
mountains  are  dowered,  and  to  the  rare  spectacles  with  which  visitors 
in  a  valley  are  rewarded  for  their  patient  sojourn.  Now  that  we  must 
turn  from  Gorham  and  the  landscapes  which  excursions  from  the  vil- 
lage and  hotel  command,  we  can  hardly  do  better  than  to  carry  with 
us  one  of  the  most  gorgeous  visions,  interpreting  Tennyson's  phrase, 
"  The  low  sm  makes  the  color,"  which  a  summer  residence  of  several 
years  in  the  Androscoggin  Valley  has  left  in  the  writer's  memory 
Thus  runs  the  cold  record  which  we  made  of  the  brilUant  fact. 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  295 

"  We  have  had  some  compensation,  my  dear  friend,  for  the  recent 
hot  weather,  in  two  ways :  for  the  body,  in  the  breezes  of  the  even 
ing,  which  have  breathed  down  the  valley,  after  sunset,  bearing 
something  of  the  coolness  that  crowns  the  hills  on  the  north,  fanning 
the  long  passage-ways  of  the  hotel,  and  making  a  seat  on  the  western 
piazza  an  incomparable  luxury  ; — for  the  eye,  in  the  soft  haze  which 
has  benetted  all  the  hills.  If  our  days  lately  have  been  as  hot  as 
those  of  Southern  Italy,  we  have  enjoyed  sunset  hours  when  the 
scenery  has  been  un-Yankee-ized, — when  the  air  was  full  of  senti- 
ment, and,  instead  of  affording  free  passage  for  the  sunbeams, 
seemed  to  melt  them,  and  mix  itself  with  them,  to  form  a  new  ele- 
ment, '  half  languish  and  half  light.'  It  swathed  the  ridges  with 
a  vague  and  tender  blue,  that  took  out  all  their  ruggedness  ;  it 
gave  a  creamy  quality  to  the  yellow  that  streamed  over  the  meadow- 
grass  ;  it  threw  a  halo  around  the  Titan  hills,  which  cheated  the  eye 
as  to  their  real  character,  and  made  them  look  as  though  they  had 
no  duties,  but  had  been  lifted  up  to  dream  the  year  away  in  unruffled 

joy- 

"  The  cool  weather  gives  us  brain-landscape.  The  hills  are  cut 
sharply.  Every  scar  and  rock  is  exposed.  We  are  trained  by  it  to 
clear  seeing.  The  scenery  is  severe,  obtrudes  geology  on  the  atten- 
tion, and  suggests  all  kinds  of  scientific  truth  to  the  intellect.  This 
hazy  tone  of  the  atmosphere  gives  heart-landscape.  Wherever  we 
look,  it  is  not  form,  so  much  as  hue  and  emotion,  that  nature  shows. 
Rich  opaline  lights  flush  the  prominent  objects,  changing  every  hour. 
Nature  seems  to  have  been  created  to  inspire  feeling.  All  the  ologies 
are  subordinate  to  artistic  impression.  The  clouds  mingle,  with  un- 
decided outlines,  into  the  tender  leaden  blue  of  the  sky.  The  moun- 
tain peaks  seem  ready  to  dissolve  into  the  air.  The  clearings  of 
light  among  the  shadows  on  the  hillsides  make  the  green  of  the  for- 
ests seem  hke  large  masses  of  chenille.  You  can't  think  of  strata,  or 
forces,  or  metals,  in  looking  at  the  chief  mountains,  any  more  than 
you  would  think  of  the  texture  of  the  canvas,  or  of  the  chemistry  of 
pigments,  in  looking  at  one  of  Turner's  masterpieces.    Rocks,  forests. 


296  THE   WHITE  HILLS. 

land-slides,  earthquakes,  are  simply  the  material  for  a  landscape  that 
stimulates  the  imagination,  educates  the  sense  of  beauty,  and  glad- 
dens the  heart. 

"  Is  it  possible,  do  you  thuak,  that  Nature  is  ever  conscious  of 
human  observation,  and  that  she  can  change  at  all,  can  blush  into 
rarer  loveliness,  when  an  eye  that  has  a  passion  for  beauty  studies 
her  ?  I  have  sometimes  fancied,  standing  on  the  sea-shore  after  a 
storm,  with  an  enthusiastic  party,  that  the  Avaves  caught  the  excite- 
ment of  the  company,  as  actors  feel  the  applause  of  the  audience,  and 
that  they  redoubled  their  efforts  in  answer  to  our  cheers.  And  often 
it  has  seemed  to  me  that  the  mountains  know  when  critical  and  appre- 
ciative visitors  come  to  be  refreshed  and  invigorated  by  their  gran- 
deur. They  will  rise  in  apparent  height,  or  mottle  themselves  with 
a  richer  complexity  of  hues,  or  select  a  rarer  vestment  from  their 
aerial  wardrobe,  or"  look  more  solemn  than  usual  or  more  subUme. 
If  it  is  one  of  the  great  purposes  of  nature  to  get  transmuted  into 
human  thought  and  emotion,  and  to  reappear  in  human  character, 
why  may  we  not  conjecture  that  the  presence  of  a  gifted  guest  has 
-ccult  power  enough,  sometimes,  to  charm  the  most  reverent  look  out 
of  a  hill,  and  induce  the  light  to  pour  its  most  cunning  splendors  on 
the  air, — so  that  the  glory  of  the  Creator  may  pass  into  the  feeling 
of  genius  ?  If  the  world  is  for  the  education  of  man,  why  may  not 
stars  glow  more  alluringly,  now  and  then,  to  the  gaze  of  a  Newton, 
or  the  Alps  be  shown  in  their  most  gorgeous  possible  apparel  because^ 
Turner  is  looking  at  them  ?  If  the  principle  is  true  in  the  general, 
why  not  sometimes  in  the  particular  ?  Does  not  Mr.  Emerson  make 
Mount  Monadnoc  confess  that  his 

gray  crags 
Not  on  crags  are  hung, 
*      But  beads  are  of  a  rosary 
On  prayer  and  music  strung? 

And  does  he  not  assure  us,  in  the  mountain's  behalf,  that,  as  soon  as 
the  seer  or  poet  comes  who  carries  the  secret  in  his  brain  of  which 
the  granite  pile  is  but  the  hieroglyph,  its  roots  will  be  unfixed  and  its 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN  VALLEY.  297 

cone  will  spin  ?  Why  then  may  the  hills  not  respond  in  part  to  the 
presence  of  genius,  though  it  carry  not  the  full  faith  which  is  able  tc 
bid  them  float  ? 

"  It  seemed  to  me  last  night,  that  such  a  law  might  account  for  the 
marvellous  spectacle  which  the  sunset  prepared  for  us.  We  have 
had  few  magnificent  sunsets  this  season.  Just  enough  of  the  purple 
has  been  poured  over  Mount  Moriah  in  July  to  tempt  us,  by  the 
recollection  of  its  splendor,  to  watch,  evening  after  evening,  for  the 
prospect  of  an  unclouded  western  horizon.  But,  during  a  fortnight,  no 
clouds  would  hang  over  the  declining  sun  to  catch  his  legacies  of 
amber  and  crimson ;  while  just  enough  fog  would  bar  the  line  of  the 
west  to  intercept  the  magnificence  that  was  intended-  for  Mount  Mo- 
riah. We  had  begun  to  drop  the  calculation  of  glowing  evening 
skies  from  the  category  of  the  delights  of  the  season. 

"  Last  evening,  however,  we  had  a  new  visitor  in  Gorham,  who  is 
worthy  to  see  the  best  which  the  region  can  reveal.  I  drove  with 
him,  in  a  smgle  wagon,  down  the  southerly  road,  to  show  him  one  of 
our  grandest  mountain- views,  and  to  let  the  pure  breeze  take  the 
heats  of  New  York  out  of  his  portly  frame, — when,  lo !  a  gorgeous- 
ness  was  conjured  in  the  west  such  as  I  never  saw  in  this  valley  be- 
fore. Before  touching  the  summits  of  the  Pilot  Hills,  which  bar  the 
northwest,  the  sun,  behind  a  cloud  from  which  he  was  about  to 
emerge,  poured  a  strangeness  and  splendor  of  color  down  their  blue- 
black  mass  which  no  brush  could  mock.  The  soft,  leaden  blue  haze 
that  lay  off  a  little  way  from  the  mountains,  was  filled  with  a  flood  of 
flaming  plum  color  and  gold.  It  was  a  curtain  of  glory  dropped  be- 
fore the  long  range.  The  gold  was  there,  and  seemed,  when  you 
looked  exclusively  at  it,  to  cover  the  whole  line.  It  was  there  in  a 
broad  and  apparently  simple  tissue.  The  plum  hue  was  just  as  plain, 
and  seemed  also  to  be  an  unmixed  sheet  of  splendor. 

"  But  how  the  two  hues  were  so  interblended  in  such  changeable 
and  blazing  atmospheric  silk,  and  how,  in  rifts  through  this  magical 
drop-scene,  the  blue-black  of  the  mountain  was  also  distinctly  visible, 
-confounded  the  senses  like  a  miracle.     For  some  five  minutes  the 


298  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

vision  lasted  in  full  brilliancy.  And,  as  it  began  to  fade,  the  un- 
broken mass  of  Mount  Madison  was  adorned  with  a  lustrous  purple 
sash,  that  fell  athwart  his  breast  from  the  shoulder  to  the  waist.. 
That  was  an  investiture  with  knightly  honor,  bj  the  sovereign  sun,, 
for  which  the  mountain  might  well  look  high  and  proud.  He  seemed 
to  say, — is  it  not  worth  while  to  stand  up  here  and  be  buffeted  by 
gales,  and  bitten  by  frosts,  and  pelted  by  hail,  and  harassed  by  tor- 
rents, and  bleached  by  snows,  to  get,  now  and  then,  such  an  honor 
as  this  for  my  patience  and  my  scars, — a  baldric  fresh  from  the  loom 
of  light,  and  woven  of  its  most  imperial  hues  ?  So  always  the  he- 
ro's tasks  are  paid  by  the  hero's  glory.  Was  not  that  spectacle  a 
leaf  from  the  gospel  of  nature,  saying  that  the  sunset  hues, — the 
peace  and  triumph  of  a  noble  life,  more  than  atone  for  the  noonday 
trials  and  the  chilly  clouds  ? 

"  I  had  never  before  seen  the  dolphin  flushes  of  evening  thrown 
upon  either  the  Pilot  Hills  or  the  White  Mountain  range,  and  I  had 
never  anywhere  seen  them  so  ravishing  and  mystical  in  their  pomp 
and  charm.  Was  it  not  on  account  of  my  companion  in  the  wagon, 
a  stranger  to  the  scenery,  who  arrived  in  the  afternoon  train  ?  Did 
not  nature  know  that  all  the  richness  of  the  shows  she  displayed  to 
his  eye  would  be  woven  again  into  splendors  of  eloquence  that  outrun 
her  reach  ?  Was  not  the  sunset,  was  not  that  purple-belted  pyramid,, 
eager  to  become  material  for  imagery  through  his  passionate  and 
poetic  genius, — imagery  sure  to  be  vivid  as  that  shining  bloom,  mys- 
tic as  the  interblending  of  those  hues,  soaring  as  that  granite  column, 
tender  and  pathetic,  too,  as  that  all-soothing  and  loving  haze  ?  No 
doubt,  that  spectacle  will  be  transmuted,  some  day,  in  speech,  or 
hymn,  or  sermon,  into  the  richer  purple  and  gold  which  genius 
weaves  out  of  memory  and  experience,  by  my  gifted  companion^ 
whose  broad  fame  as  a  Christian  orator  has  recently  been  crowned  by 
Harvard  with  honors  that  are  modestly  worn." 

The  life  of  man  has  wondrous  hours 
Revealed  at  once  to  heart  and  eye, 
When  wake  all  being's  kindled  powers, 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN    VALLEY.  ,  299 

And  joy,  like  dew  on  trees  and  flowers, 
With  freshness  fills  the  earth  and  sky. 

The  distant  landscape  glows  serene; 

The  dark  old  tower  with  tremulous  sheen 
Pavilion  of  a  seraph  stands. 

The  mountain  rude,  with  steeps  of  gold, 

And  mists  of  raby  o'er  them  rolled, 
Up  tov/ards  the  evening  star  expands. 

And  those  who  walk  within  the  sphere, 
The  plot  of  earth's  transfigured  green, 

Like  angels  walk,  so  high,  so  clear, 
With  ravishment  in  eye  and  mien.  * 

For  this  one  hour  no  breath  of  fear, 

Of  shame  or  weakness  wandering  near 
Can  trusting  hearts  annoy: 

Past  things  are  dead,  or  only  live 

The  life  that  hope  alone  can  give. 
And  all  is  faith  and  joy. 

'Tis  not  that  beauty  forces  then 

Her  blessings  on  reluctant  men. 
But  this  great  globe,  with  all  its  might, 
Its  awful  depth  and  heavenward  height, 

Seems  but  my  heart  with  wonder  thrilling 
And  beating  in  my  human  breast; 

My  sense  with  inspiration  filling, 
Mj'self — beyond  my  nature  blest. 

W^ell  for  a\\  such  hours  who  know. 

All  who  hail,  not  bid  them  go. 
If  the  spirit's  strong  pulsation 

After  keeps  its  nobler  tone. 
And  no  helpless  lamentation 

Dulls  the  heart  when  rapture  's  flown ; 
If  the  rocky  field  of  Duty, 

Built  around  with  mountains  hoar. 
Still  is  dearer  than  the  Beauty 

Of  the  sky-land's  colored  shore. 


THE   GLEN. 

The  road  to  the  Glen  lies  through  the  forest  between  Mount  Car- 
ter and  Mount  Madison  along  the  brawling  Peabody  River.    Rev.  H, 


oQO  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

White,  in  a  book  of  remarkable  incidents  from  the  history  of  New  Eng- 
land, tells  us  that  a  visitor  from  Massachusetts,  by  the  name  of  Pea- 
body,  passed  a  night,  many  years  ago,  in  an  Indian's  cabin  on  the  height 
of  land  between  the  Saco  and  Androscoggin  rivers.  It  must  have  been 
very  near  the  spot  where  a  clearing  has  been  made  iu  the  Pinkham 
woods  beyond  the  Glen  House,  under  the  walls  of  Tuckerman's  ravine. 
The  mmates  of  the  Indian  cabin,  we  are  told,  were  roused  in  the  night 
by  a  singular  and  dreadful  noise,  and  in  their  terror  rushed  from  the 
hut  just  in  time  to  save  their  lives  ;  for  the  cabin  was  swept  away  by 
a  furious  torrent  that  had  burst  from  the  hillside  where  there  had  been 
no  spring  before.  No  date  is  given  in  connection  with  the  story. 
One  of  the  mountain  books  informs  us  that  this  was,  possibly,  the 
origin  of  the  branch  of  the  Peabody  River  that  runs  in  front  of  the 
Glen  House.  But  as  long  as  Washington,  Adams,  Carter,  and  Mad- 
ison have  received  baptisms  of  rain  and  been  sheeted  with  snow,  the 
Peabody  River  has  not  ceased  to  Avind  through  the  Glen,  and  hurry 
with  its  increasing  burden  of  water  eight  hundred  feet  down  to  the 
Androscoggin  in  Gorham.  Doubtless  a  convulsion  may  have  opened 
a  pathway  for  some  feeder  of  the  Ellis  River  which  flows  into  the 
Saco,  or  of  the  Peabody  that  pays  tribute  to  the-  Androscoggin.  But 
the  river  itself,  whose  curves  we  see  and  whose  brawl  we  hear  on 
the  ride  to  the  Glen  House,  was  fed  from  the  broad  shoulders  of 
Mount  Washington,  from  the  gorges  of  Jefferson,  from  the  more  even 
desolation  of  the  pyramid  of  Madison,  and  from  rains  distilled  more 
slowly  through  "the  deep  forest  soil  of  Carter,  ages  before  any  settler 
lifted  an  axe  upon  its  bordering  trees,  or  any  Indian  looked  up  from 
its  banks  with  awe  to  the  craggy  seat  of  Manitou, — yes, 

Ere  Adam  wived, 
Ere  Adam  lived, 
Ere  the  duck  dived. 
Ere  the  bees  hived. 
Ere  the  lion  roared, 
Ere  the  eagle  soared. 

We  are  able  to  give  a  sketch  of  the  Peabody  stream  from  a  point 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY. 


301 


where  it  is  watched  by  one  of  the  great  White  Mountain  summits. 
The  following  poem,  which  the  accomplished  author's  kindness  allows 
us  to  transfer  to  type  from  manuscript,  was  written  after  a  morning 
visit  from  Gorham  to  the  lower  part  of  the  Peabody,  by  Rev.  William 
R,  Alger  of  Boston  : — 


My  way  in  opening  dawn  I  took. 
Between  the  hills,  beside  a  brook. 
The  peaks  one  sun  was  climbing  o'er, — 
The  dew-drops  showed  ten  millions  more. 

The  mountain  valley  is  a  vase 
Which  God  has  brimmed  with  rarest  grace 
41 


302  THE   WHITE    HILLS. 

And,  kneeling  in  the  taintless  air, 
I  drink  celestial  blessings  there. 

Behold  that  guiltless  bird!     What  brings 
Him  here?    He  comes  to  wash  his  wings. 
Let  me,  too,  wash  my  wings,  with  prayer, 
And  cleanse  them  from  foul  dust  and  care. 

,    To  one  long  time  in  city  pent. 

The  lesson  seems  from  heaven  sent: — 
For  pinions  clean  yon  bird  takes  care. 
Of  soul  dejiled  do  thou  beware  I 

It  is  certainly  a  startling  view  that  bursts  upon  us  when  we  enter 
the  Glen,  either  from  Gorham  or  from  Jackson,  by  the  Pinkham 
road.  No  other  pubUc-house  in  the  mountahis,  except  those  in  North 
Conway,  is  so  situated  that  Mount  Washington  is  in  view  from  its 
grounds.  But  North  Conway  is  twenty  miles  distant.  The  Glen 
House  is  at  the  very  base  of  the  monarch ;  and  Adams,  Jefferson, 
Clay,  and  Madison  bend  around  towards  the  east,  with  no  lower  hills 
to  obstruct  the  impression  of  their  height, — so  that  from  the  piazza 
and  front  chamber  windows  of  the  hotel,  the  forest  clothing  of  the 
five  highest  mountains  of  New  England  is  distinctly  seen,  with  all  the 
clefts  and  chasms  and  the  channelling  of  the  rains,  up  to  the  bare 
ridge  from  which  the  desolate  cones  or  splintered  peaks  ascend. 

In  the  Glen  we  are  a  little  too  near  the  mountains  for  the  best 
landscape  effects ;  and  as  the  sun  sets  behind  the  great  ridge,  we 
cannot  see  the  splendors  and  changes  of  the  evening  light  poured 
over  the  range  as  from  Jefferson,  Bethlehem,  and  Lancaster.  The 
best  time  for  the  effects  of  light  on  the  peaks  is  early  in  the  morning, 
when  the  rocky  portions  of  the  ridge  are  often  burnished  with  sur- 
passing beauty,  or  from  four  to  six  in  the  afternoon  of  midsummer, 
when  the  lights  and  shadows  are  most  powerfully  contrasted.  A 
misty  day,  too,  is  a  great  privilege,  when  the  fogs  are  not  heavy  and 
sulky,  but  break  around  the  peaks  in  the  graceful  witcheries  of  their 
languid  and  unceasing  change  ;  or  when,  in  preparation  for  a  storm, 
heavy  clouds  roll  up  the  ravines  and  pack  themselves  between  the 
cones  of  the  ridge,  and  pour  over  into  the  caldron-like  gulf?  to  whirl 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN    VALLEY. 


303 


around  their  sides,  and,  now  and  then,  suffer  one  of  the  mountains  to 
show  itself  seemingly  doubled  in  height,  while  all  its  companions  are 
smothered  by  the  towering  vapors.     It  was  during  such  a  scene  that 


our  first  acquaintance  with  the  Glen  was  made,  many  years  ago, 
about  sunset  on  a  summer  evening.  The  clouds  had  hidden  Wash- 
ington, Madison,  Jefferson,  and  Clay,  and  had  piled  their  inky  folds 
behind  Mount  Adams.     But  not  a  shred  of  vapor  spotted  its  fore- 


304  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

ground  or  flitted  across  its  crest.  The  dusky  outline  of  its  pyramid, 
more  than  four  thousand  feet  from  the  valley  to  the  apex,  rose  alone, 
mimicking  the  Swiss  Jungfrau  in  shape,  so  symmetrical  and  beautiful 
that  the  storm  seemed  to  spare  its  proportions,  and  allow  it  for  our 
delight  to  shoot  its  keen  edges  and  spire  into  the  black  sky. 

Mount  Adams  looks  the  highest  at  all  times  from  the  Glen  House ; 
and  in  fact,  although  it  is  nearly  five  hundred  feet  lower  than  Mount 
Washington,  a  greater  elevation  on  one  steady  slope  is  seen  in  look- 
ing at  it  than  Mount  Washington  reveals.  The  summit  of  Mount 
Washington  lies  back  of  the  shoulder  seen  from  the  Glen,  so  that 
the  effect  of  a  thousand  feet  of  height  is  really  lost.  And  yet, 
after  the  first  surprise  has  passed,  there  is  no  comparison  between 
the  two  mountains  for  grandeur,  as  they  tower  above  the  hotel.  Wash- 
ington is  more  massive.  The  lines  that  run  off  to  the  southeast  from 
the  summit,  and  especially  those  that  sweep  around  the  Great  Gulf 
and  Tuckerman's  Ravine,  are  far  more  grand  and  fascinating,  to  the 
eye  of  an  artist,  than  the  symmetry  of  the  slim  pyramid  of  Ad- 
ams. One  can  never  tire  of  looking  at  their  sharp,  curving  edges, 
into  whose  steely  hardness  the  torrents  and  rock-slides  have  torn 
steep  dykes,  that  in  the  afternoon  are  delicate  engravings  of  graceful 
shadow.  And  seen  through  a  southerly  air  or  a  light  shower,  that 
shows,  much  more  plainly  than  clear  air  does,  the  number  and  the 
graceful  flow  as  well  as  vigor  of  these  lines,  we  learn  that  the  great 
privilege  of  the  Glen  is  the  opportunity  it  gives  for  studying  from 
below  the  granite  braces  of  the  cone  of  Mount  Washington. 

It  is  very  difficult,  even  after  twenty  opportunities  of  study,  to 
copy  from  memory  the  outline  of  a  well-formed  mountain.  And  if 
not  outlines,  a  fortiori  not  details  of  mass,  which  have  all  the  com- 
plexity of  the  outline  multiplied  a  thousand-fold,  and  drawn  in  fainter 
colors.  "  Nothing  is  more  curious,"  says  Mr.  Ruskin,  "  than  the 
state  of  embarrassment  into  which  the  unfortunate  artist  must  soon 
be  cast,  when  he  endeavors  honestly  to  draw  the  face  of  the  simplest 
mountain  cliff — say  a  thousand  feet  high,  and  two  or  three  miles  dis- 
tant.    It  is  full  of  exquisite  details,  all  seemingly  decisive  and  clear ; 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  305 

but  when  he  tries  to  arrest  one  of  them,  he  cannot  see  it, — cannot 
find  where  it  begins  or  ends, — and  presently  it  runs  into  another  ; 
and  then  he  tries  to  draw  that,  but  that  will  not  be  drawn,  neither, 
until  it  has  conducted  him  to  a  third,  which,  somehow  or  another, 
made  part  of  the  first ;  presently  he  finds  that,  instead  of  three,  there 
are  in  reality  four,  and  then  he  loses  his  place  altogether.  He  tries 
to  draw  clear  lines,  to  make  his  Avork  look  craggy,  but  finds  then  that  it 
is  too  hard  ;  he  tries  to  draw  soft  lines,  and  it  is  immediately  too  soft  ; 
he  draws  a  curved  line,  and  instantly  sees  it  should  have  been 
straight ;  a  straight  one,  and  finds  when  he  looks  up  again  that  it 
has  got  curved  while  he  was  drawing  it.  There  is  nothing  for  him 
but  despair,  or  some  sort  of  abstraction  and  shorthand  for  cliff.  Then 
the  only  question  is,  which  is  the  wisest  abstraction  ;  and  out  of  the 
multitude  of  lines  that  cannot  altogether  be  interpreted,  which  are 
the  really  dominant  ones  ;  so  that  if  we  cannot  give  the  whole,  we 
may  at  least  give  what  will  convey  the  most  important  facts  about 
the  cliff." 

We  have  alluded  in  a  former  chapter  to  the  grand  contrast,  in 
spring,  of  the  snowfields  on  Mount  Washington  with  the  infant  green 
of  the  forests  below.  But  October  is  the  best  season  for  a  visit  to 
the  Glen.  In  the  middle  of  that  month,  the  summits  are  often  en- 
tirely covered  with  their  winter  whiteness.  We  have  in  our  mind's 
eye  now  the  spectacle  which  a  ride  from  Gorham  to  the  Glen,  about 
the  middle  of  October,  has  added  to  the  gallery  of  our  memory.  For 
a  large  part  of  the  way.  Mount  Washington  was  in  sight  more  plainly 
than  in  summer,  on  account  of  the  dropping  of  the  leaves  from  many 
of  the  trees  that  border  the  road.  It  looked  higher  than  in  July  or 
August.  Around  the  base,  orange,  pale  yellow,  and  brown  were 
intermixed  with  evergreens ;  above  these  hues  was  a  zone  of  dark 
purple  ;  and  over  this,  where  in  summer  rises  the  gray  or  gray-green 
barrenness,  a  great  dome  of  white,  as  though  its  sheathing  might 
have  been  mother-of-pearl,  swelled  towards  the  heavy  and  rolling 
clouds.    But  as  we  emerged  from  the  woods,  and,  from  the  hill  where 


306  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

the  Glen  House  is  first  seen,  turned  to  get  a  sight  of  Mount  Adams, 
the  view  was  really  startling.  The  sun  was  shining  upon  it,  and  it 
flashed  above  the  gorgeous  hues  of  its  lower  forest  like  a  silver  spire. 
The  air  was  cool  and  transparent,  the  clouds  were  flying,  there  was 
no  rain,  and  yet  the  efiect  was  as  though  something  was  falUng  from 
the  clouds  over  the  mountain, — as  though  an  emerald  dust  was  sift- 
ing upon  the  sparkhng  crest  and  slope.  After  a  while,  the  clouds 
settled  a  little  lower  and  touched  the  mountain-tops,  and  for  an  hour 
or  two  would  let  their  vapors  droop  a  little  below  the  crests,  then 
draw  them  back  till  they  just  touched  their  tips,  and  thus  allowed 
them  to  sway  and  waver  for  several  hours.  The  flushes  of  the  sun- 
set on  the  Wetterhorn  or  Monte  Rosa,  the  gorgeousness  of  tropio 
vegetation  around  the  base  and  on  the  first  acclivities  of  Chimborazo, 
are  worth  as  pictures  all  the  labor  and  expense  which  it  costs  to  see 
them.  Yet  it  is  not  impossible  that  one  might  find,  in  such  a  view 
of  the  Glen  as  October  sometimes  provides,  a  richer  combination  of 
colors  than  can  be  displayed  by  any  landscape,  unspeakably  grander 
in  proportion,  in  the  great  mountain  districts  of  the  globe. 

And  now  shall  we  climb  a  few  hundred  feet  of  Mount  Carter  be- 
hind the  Glen  House,  in  order  to  obtain  a  more  impressive  view  of 
the  great  hills  we  have  been  speaking  of,  and  to  enjoy  the  pleasures 
that  reward  such  exertion.  While  we  are  shut  in  by  the  forest,  we 
may  turn  our  attention  to  the  symmetry  and  varieties  of  the  leaves, 
and  try  to  learn  something  of  Nature's  wealth  of  resources  as  to 
graceful  form,  Avithin  narrow  boundaries.  An  eye  that  is  sensitive  to 
the  grace  of  curves  and  parabolas  and  oval  swells  will  marvel  at  the 
feast  which  a  day's  Avalk  in  the  woods  will  supply  from  the  trees,  the 
grasses,  and  the  weeds,  in  the  varying  outlines,  the  notchings,  vein- 
ings,  and  edgings  of  the  leaves.  They  stand  for  the  art  of  sculpture 
in  Botany,  representing  the  intellectual  dehght  of  Nature  in  form, 
as  the  flowers  express  the  companion  art  of  painting.  Leaves  are 
the  Greek,  flowers  the  Italian  phase  of  the  spirit  of  beauty  that 
reveals  itself  through  the  Flora  of  the  globe. 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN  VALLEY.  307 

An  exhaustive  collection  of  leaves  would  form  one  of  the  most 
attractive  museums  that  could  be  gathered.  It  would  be  a  privilege 
that  could  not  but  unseal  in  some  measure  the  dullest  eye,  to  look  in 
one  day  over  the  whole  scale  of  Nature's  foliage-art,  from  the  feath- 
ery spray  of  the  moss,  to  the  tough  texture  on  the  Amazon  lily's 
stem  that  will  float  a  burden  of  a  hundred  weight ;  from  the  bristles 
of  the  pine-tree  to  the  Ceylon  palm  leaf  that  will  shield  a  family  with 
its  shade.  Would  it  not  astonish  us  into  something  like  reverent 
admiration,  if  we  could  sweep  the  gradations  of  Nature's  green  as  it 
is  distilled  from  arctic  and  temperate  and  tropic  light,  and  varied  by 
some  shade  on  every  leaf  that  grows  ;  if  we  could  scan  all  the  tex- 
tures of  the  drapery  woven  out  of  salts  and  water  in  botanic  looms, 
from  the  softest  silk  of  the  corn  to  the  broad  tissue  of  the  banana's 
stock  ;  if  we  could  see  displayed  in  wide  masses  all  the  hues  in  which 
Autumn  dyes  the  leaves  of  our  own  forests,  as  though  every  square 
mile  had  been  drenched  in  the  aerial  juices  of  a  gorgeous  sunset 
And  then  when  we  should  see  how  the  general  geometry  of  the  ver- 
dure is  broken  into  countless  patterns,  we  should  find  our  museum 
of  leaves  as  engaging  a  school  for  the  education  of  the  intellect  as 
a  collection  of  all  vertebrae,  or  a  representative  conservatory  of  the 
globe. 

.  A  careful  and  eloquent  observer  of  Nature  describes  the  leaf  as  a 
sudden  expansion  of  the  stem  that  bore  it ;  an  uncontrollable  expres- 
sion of  delight,  on  the  part  of  the  twig,  that  Spring  has  come,  shown 
in  a  fountain-like  expatiation  of  its  tender  green  heart  into  the  air. 
And  to  hold  this  joy,  Nature  moulds  the  leaves  as  vases  into  the  most 
diverse  and  fantastic  shapes, — of  eggs,  and  hearts,  and  circles,  of 
lances  and  wedges,  and  arrows  and  shields.  She  cleaves,  and  parts, 
and  notches  them  in  the  most  cunning  ways,  combines  their  blades 
into  subtle  and  complicated  varieties,  and  scallops  their  edges  and 
points  into  patterns  that  involve  seemingly  every  possible  angle  and 
every  line  of  grace. 

Mr.  Agassiz,  from  a  single  scale,  is  able  to  draw  the  form  of  the 
fish  to  which  it  belongs.     It  is  possible  that  we  may  yet  find  in  the 


308  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

leaf  the  whole  character  of  the  tree.  A  recent  writer  on  botanj 
maintains  that  a  leaf  with  a  leaf-stalk  implies  that  the  tree  to  which 
it  belongs  has  naturally  a  bare  trunk  for  a  certain  distance  ;  but  that 
a  leaf  without  a  leaf-stalk  shows  that  its  parent  tree  is  naturally 
branched  from  the  ground.  Also  that  there  is  a  correspondence  be- 
tween the  disposition  and  distribution  of  the  leaf-veins  and  the  dispo- 
sition and  distribution  of  the  branches  of  the  trees.  Still  further, 
that  the  angle  at  which  the  lateral  veins  in  the  leaf  go  off"  shows  the 
angle  at  which  the  branch  goes  off,  and  that  the  curve  of  the  vein 
shows  the  curve  of  the  corresponding  branch.  Mr.  Ruskin  tells  us 
that  "  the  numbers  of  any  great  composition,  arranged  about  a  cen- 
tre, are  always  reducible  to  the  law  of  the  ivy  leaf,  the  best  cathe- 
dral entrances  having  five  porches  corresponding  in  proportional 
purpose  to  its  five  lobes ;  while  the  loveliest  groups  of  lines  attain- 
able in  any  pictorial  composition  are  always  based  on  the  section  of 
the  leaf-bud,  or  on  the  relation  of  its  ribs  to  the  convex  curve  inclos- 
ing them."  And  in  a  grander  architecture  than  any  human  one,  the 
laws  of  the  arrangement  of  leaves  around  their  stem  are  repeated. 
For  it  is  found  that  the  relations  between  the  times  of  the  revolutions 
of  the  planets  in  the  solar  system  around  the  sun,  are  expressed  by 
the  same  series  of  fractions  which  show  the  combinations  most  fre- 
quently observed  in  the  arrangement  of  leaves,  in  spirals  around  their 
stems.     '  The  Maker  of  this  earth  but  patented  a  leaf.' 

And  those  five  huge  mountains,  that  face  us  as  we  rise  out  of  the 
woods  of  Mount  Carter  into  a  little  clearing — Washington,  Clay,  Jeffer- 
son, Adams,  Madison,  which  seem  to  tower  far  more  grandly  when  seen 
from  this  height  than  from  the  plateau  in  the  Glen — are  not  the  lines 
of  the  leaf  shown  to  us  in  the  veins  of  their  ravines,  and  in  the  curves 
that  bound  many  of  their  spires  of  rock,  or  that  show  the  grace  into 
which  their  landslides  have  subsided  ?  Only  we  must  remember  that 
these  five  huge  lobes  of  earth,  seen  at  the  proper  distance,  are  petals 
rather,  of  a  mighty  flower,  whose  bloom  is  not  fixed  for  certain  sea- 
sons, but  flushes  and  fades  by  incalculable  laws.  And  it  is  not  fixed 
hues,  such  as  a  rose  or  a  dahlia  or  a  tulip  bears,  that  this  corolla  of 


THE    ANDROSCOGGIN    VALLEY. 


309 


% 


^m^^-r^^i'^^'  - <^^?''' 


■  ■*  "-ti/, 


<^^«'•''^ 


earth  is  appointed  to 

display ;  but  every 
tender  dye,  which 
the  sun's  pencil 
leaves  upon  the  Flo- 
ra of  New  England, 
glows  upon  them  at 
morning  or  at  sun- 
set, and  their  bloom 
is  the  richest  when 
the  vital  forces  of 
the  garden  and  the 
forest  are  checked  by 
the  winter  frosts  and 
buried  in  the  snow. 


We  shall  have  a  very  grand  view  of  Mount  Washington  on  the 
way  from  the  Glen  House  to  visit  the  two  cascades,  a  few  miles  dis- 

42 


310  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

tant  in  Pinkham  Pass.  In  the  Autumn  of  1858,  a  clearing  was 
made  about  three  miles  from  the  Glen,  which  opens  the  nearest  view 
of  tlie  whole  summit  and  shoulders  of  Mount  Washington,  Avhich  can 
ever  probably  be  obtained  from  the  base.  It  is  near  a  small  fountain 
whose  water  flows  two  ways — from  one  side  into  a  branch  of  the 
Saco,  from  the  other  into  a  branch  of  the  Androscoggin, — that  we 
o-ain  the  view  of  the  deep  hollows  and  rocky  ruins  over  which  the 
dome  of  the  great  mountain  is  so  serenely  set.  On  one  of  those  hard 
ridges,  four  thousand  feet  above  us,  three  drops  of  rain  may  fall  in 
company,  one  of  which  may  trickle  off  towards  the  Ammonoosuc,  to 
be  borne  into  the  Connecticut ;  while  the  other  two,  sinking  into  the 
invisible  veins  that  feed  this  fountain,  and  bubbling  up  into  it,  may 
part  company  again, — on  one  side  for  the  Peabody  River,  on  the 
other  for  the  Ellis, — and  thus  be  received  into  the  sea  at  different 
openings  on  the  coast  of  Maine.  Is  not  this  a  hieroglyphic  lesson  in 
the  great  spiritual  laws  ? 

So  from  the  heights  of  Will 
Life's  parting  stream  descends, 
And  as  a  moment  turns  its  slender  rill, 
Each  widening  torrent  bends, — 

From  the  same  cradle's  side, 
From  the  same  mother's  knee, — 
One  to  long  darkness  and  the  frozen  tide. 
One  to  the  peaceful  sea! 

The  waterfalls  we  are  to  seek  are  not  at  a  great  distance  from  the 
road,  as  many  of  the  others  are,  which  we  have  described  ;  and  on 
our  way  to  the 

CRYSTAL   CASCADE, 

let  us  bear  in  mind  that  "  of  all  inorganic  substances,  acting  in  theii 
own  proper  nature,  and  without  assistance  or  combination,  water  is 
the  most  wonderful.  If  we  think  of  it  as  the  source  of  all  the  change- 
fulness  and  beauty  which  Ave  have  seen  in  clouds  ;  then  as  the  instru- 
ment by  which  the  earth  we  have  contemplated  Avas  modelled  into 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY.  311 

symmetry,  and  its  crags  chiselled  into  grace  ;  then  as,  in  the  form 
of  snow,  it  robes  the  mountains  it  has  made,  with  that  transcendent 
light  which  we  could  not  have  conceived  if  we  had  not  seen ;  then  as 
it  exists  in  the  form  of  the  torrent, — in  the  iris  which  spans  it,  in  the 
morning  mist  which  rises  from  it,  in  the  deep  crystalline  pools  which 
mirror  its  hanging  shore,  in  the  broad  lake  and  glancuig  river ;  finally, 
in  that  which  is  to  all  human  minds  the  best  emblem  of  unwearied, 
vmconquerable  power,  the  wild,  various,  fantastic,  tameless  unity  of 
the  sea  ;  what  shall  we  compare  to  this  mighty,  this  universal  ele- 
ment, for  glory  and  for  beauty  ?  or  how  shall  we  follow  its  eternal 
changefulness  of  feeling  ?     It  is  like  trying  to  paint  a  soul." 

We  never  look  at  the  Crystal  Cascade  without  revering  and  re- 
joicing over  the  poetry  with  which  Nature  invests  the  birth  of  so 
common  a  thing  as  Avater.  The  making  of  the  most  costly  wine, 
after  the  sun  has  ceased  to  tinge  the  grape  with  purple,  and  to 
infuse  sweetness  into  its  pulp,  has  no  such  poetic  charm  connected 
with  it  as  encircles  the  advent  of  pure  water.  The  gentle  and  invisi- 
ble suction  of  it  in  vapor  fresh  from  the  salt  fountains  of  the  sea  ;  its 
dropping  in  crystal  snow  piled  in  fantastic  drifts  and  pinnacles  upon 
the  lofty  mountain  ridges,  to  melt  there  under  the  climbing  summer 
sun  ;  its  descent  in  showers,  or  in  tempests  driven  by  howling  winds 
and  flashing  electric  fire  ;  and  then  the  passages  of  its  earthly  his- 
tory,— its  trickling  from  the  hard  rocks  of  lofty  summits,  flavored  with 
the  cold  pure  breath  of  mountain  winds,  its  leaping  in  rills,  and  their 
marriage  into  brooks,  its  plunging  in  cascades,  that  laugh  joyously 
through  sloping  forests,  its  calmer  flow  through  green  nooks  and  over 
mossy  rocks,  its  soft  "  complaining  "  creep,  "  making  the  meadows 
green,"  while  it  bears  its  burden  to  a  river's  treasury,  or  its  untiring 
bubble  from  the  ground  in  springs, — what  process  of  nature  has  so 
much  to  stimulate  and  engage  the  imagination  as  the  biography  of 
water,  from  its  birth  out  of  the  ocean  to  its  presence  on  our  summer 
tables  to  assuage  our  thirst !  If  wine  were  our  ordinary  drink,  and 
\A'ater  were  as  rare  and  expensive  as  our  richest  wine,  and  there  were 


312  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

only  one  elevation  on  the  globe, — some  ice-coned  Chiniborazo,  some 
jagged  Jungfrau, — where  it  was  collected,  condensed,  and  distrib- 
uted in  streams,  what  gorgeous  poetry  would  be  dedicated  to  the 
rare  and  gracious  fluid,  what  eagerness  to  get  draughts  of  it,  what 
Bums  would  be  paid  for  transparent  ice-blocks  of  it,  what  enthusiastic 
pilgrimages  be  made  to  the  majestic  crystal  distillery  piercing  the 
heavens,  whence  the  cloud-vapor  was  given  in  trickling  beauty  and 
melody  to  man  !  Yet  every  mountain  is  such  a  distillery,  and  the 
rocky  bed  of  every  leaping  rivulet  the  vein  of  such  a  mysterious  and 
poetic  mercy  to  the  Avorld.  We  lack  the  insight  to  connect  the 
processes  and  weave  the  history  of  the  gift  into  marvel  and  beauty. 

It  requires  about  half  an  hour  to  reach  the  Crystal  Cascade,  with 
a  party  of  ladies,  from  the  side  of  the  road  where  the  wagon  is  left. 
And  visitors  should  not  forget  that  the  proper  point  from  which  to 
see  it  is  not  the  foot  of  the  fall  itself,  but  the  top  of  the  little  cliff 
directly  opposite.  No  contrast  more  striking  can  be  found  among 
ihe  mountains  than  that  of  age  and  youth,  which  is  furnished  from 
that  point.  The  chff  is  richly  carpeted  with  mosses  that  have  been 
nourished  and  thickened  by  centuries,  and  that  never  till  within  ten 
years  have  yielded  to  any  pressure  more  rude  than  the  step  of  a 
partridge,  or  the  footfall  of  a  fawn.  The  rocks  of  the  neighboring 
precipices  look  old.  They  are  cracked  and  seamed  as  though  the 
forces  of  decay  had  wound  their  coils  fairly  around  them,  and  were 
crumbhng  them  at  leisure.  The  Hchens  upon  them  look  bleached 
and  feeble.  These  protruding  portions  of  its  anatomy  indicate  that 
Mount  Washington  has  passed  the  meridian  of  his  years.  But  the 
waterfall  gives  the  impression  of  graceful  and  perpetual  youth.  Down 
it  comes,  leaping,  sliding,  tripping,  widening  its  pure  tide,  and  then 
gathering  its  thin  sheet  to  gush  through  a  narrowing  pass  in  the 
rocks, — all  the  way  thus,  from  under  the  sheer  walls  of  Tuckerman's 
Ravine,  some  miles  above,  till  it  reaches  the  curve  opposite  the  point 
where  we  stand,  and  winding  around  it,  sweeps  down  the  bending 
stairway,  shattenng  its  substance  into  exquisite  crystal,  but  sending 


THE    ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY. 


313 


off  enough  water  to  the  right  side  of  its  path  to  shp  and  trickle  over 
the  lovely,  dark  green  mosses  that  cling  to  the  gray  and  purple  rocks 
For  how  many  thousand  years  has  it  enUvened  the  mountaui  side 
thus  with  its  flashes  and  its  dance  ?     Perhaps  long  enough  to  have 


fulfilled  one  of  the  great  Platonic  years, — long  enough  for  the  very 
water  which  in  one  summer  week  has  poured  down  its  channels,  to  be 
returned  from  the  sea  by  the  clouds,  to  the  very  same  spot  over  the 
mountain  ridge,  and  to  repeat  their  journey. 


314  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

But  there  is  no  suggestion  of  age  in  its  curves  and  color,  or  in  the 
sprighthness  of  its  voice.  Beautiful  plunderer,  it  has  made  the 
mountain  more  meagre,  and  has  torn  out  thousands  of  tons  frcra  his 
bulk,  to  find  a  more  easj  pathway  down  which  it  might  move.  But 
it  is  not  onlj  undimmed  youth,  it  is  feminine  grace  and  freshness  and 
charm  which  it  expresses, — 

Laugh  of  the  mountain!  lyre  of  bird  and  tree 
Pomp  of  the  meadow !  mirror  of  the  morn ! 
The  soul  of  April,  unto  whom  are  born 
The  rose  and  jassamine,  leaps  wild  in  thee! 

The  mountain  has  yielded  without  murmur  to  the  humors  of  the 
stream  ui  choosing  and  channelling  its  path.  The  scene  is  the  story 
told  in  a  mightier  sculpture  than  art  can  manage,  of  Ariadne  riding 
the  panther, — beauty  resting  gracefully  on  the  submissive  brute. 
And  yet,  when  we  forecast  the  service  of  these  beautiful  crystal 
sheets,  born  in  part  of  snows  packed  in  the  shadowed  caverns  above, 
in  carrying  coolness  to  the  Saco  and  North  Conway,  let  it  remind  us 
of  Longfellow's  verses  : — 

God  sent  his  messenger  the  rain, 
And  said  unto  the  mountain  brook, 
"  Rise  up  and  from  thy  caverns  look 
And  leap,  with  naked,  snow-white  feet, 
From  tlie  cool  hills  into  the  heat 
Of  the  broad,  arid  plain." 

God  sent  his  messenger  of  faith, 
And  whispered  in  tiie  maiden's  heart, 
"  Rise  up  and  look  from  where  thou  art 
And  scatter  with  unselfish  hands 
Thy  freshness  on  the  barren  sands 
And  solitudes  of  Death." 

The  surroundings  of 


THE    GLEN   ELLIS   FALL 

are  more  grand  than  those  of  the  cascade  just  spoken  of.     In  fact,  if 
we  wished  to  take  a  person  into  a  scene  that  would  seem  to  be  the 


THE   ANDROSCOGGIN   VALLEY. 


lib 


very  heart  of  mountain  wildness,  without  wishing  to  make  him  cUmb 
into  any  of  the  ravines,  we  should  invite  him  to  visit  this  fall  of  the 
Ellis  River.  The  best  view  of  the  fall  is  obtained  by  leaning  against 
a  tree  that  overhangs  a  sheer  precipice,  and  looking  down  upon  the 
slide  and  foam  of  the  narrow  and  concentrated  cataract  to  where  it 


splashes  into  the  dark  green  pool,  a  hundred  feet  below.  And  then 
as  we  look  off  from  this  point  above  the  fall,  we  see  the  steep  side  of 
Mount  Carter  crowded  to  the  ridge  with  the  forest.  It  is  not  the 
sense  of  age,  but  of  grim,  almost  fierce  wildness,  that  is  breathed 
from  the  scenery,  amid  which  this  cataract  takes  a  leap  of  eighty 


316  THE   WHITE  HlLLb. 

feet  to  carry  its  contribution  to  the  Saco.  But  we  must  be  careful 
how  we  talk  of  the  leap  of  the  river,  or  we  shall  have  Mr.  Ruskiu 
after  us.  He  tells  us  that  artists  seldom  convey  the  characteristic 
of  a  powerful  stream  that  descends  a  long  distance  through  a  narrow 
channel,  where  it  has  a  chance  to  expand  as  it  falls.  The  springing 
lines  of  parabolic  descent  are  apt  to  be  the  controlling  feature  of  the 
picture.  The  stream  is  made  to  look  active  all  the  way,  not  supine. 
"  Now  water  will  leap  a  little  way,  it  will  leap  down  a  weir  or  over  a 
stone,  but  it  tumbles  over  a  high  fall  like  this ;  and  it  is  when  we 
have  lost  the  parabolic  line,  and  arrived  at  the  catenary, — when  we 
have  lost  the  spring  of  the  fall,  and  arrived  at  the  plunge  of  it,  that 
we  begin  really  to  feel  its  weight  and  wildness.  Where  water  takes 
its  first  leap  from  the  top,  it  is  cool,  and  collected,  and  uninteresting, 
and  mathematical,  but  it  is  when  it  finds  that  it  has  got  into  a  scrape, 
and  has  farther  to  go  than  it  thought  for,  that  its  character  comes 
out ;  it  is  then  that  it  begins  to  Avrithe,  and  twist,  and  sweep  out  zone 
after  zone  in  Avilder  stretching  as  it  falls,  and  to  send  down  the 
rocket-like,  lance-pointed,  whizzing  shafts  at  its  sides,  sounding  for 
the  bottom." 

ft  is  feminine  and  maidenly  grace  that  is  illustrated  by  the  crystal 
cascade  ;  it  is  mascuUne  youth,  the  spirit  of  heroic  adventure,  that 
is  suggested  by  this  stream,  which  flows  for  a  long  way  level  over  a 
rocky  bed  before  it  breaks  from  its  mountain-prison  into  a  broader 
life. 

Take,  cradled  Nursling  of  the  mountain,  take 

This  parting  glance,  no  negligent  adieu! 

A  Protean  change  seems  wrought  while  I  pursue 

The  cui-ves,  a  loosely  scattered  chain  doth  make; 

Or  rather  thou  appear'st  a  glittering  snaSe, 

Silent,  and  to  the  gazer's  eye  untrue, 

Thridding  with  sinuous  lapse  the  rushes,  through 

Dwarf  willows  gliding,  and  by  ferny  brake. 

Starts  from  a  dizzy  steep  the  undaunted  Rill 

Robed  instantly  in  garb  of  snow-white  foam; 

And  laughing  dares  the  Adventurer,  who  hath  <!")inb 

So  high,  a  rival  purpose  to  fulfil; 

Else  let  the  dastard  backward  wend,  and  roam, 

Seeking  less  bold  achievement,  where  he  will' 


THE   ASCENT    OF    MOUNT   WASHINGTON. 


Every  morn  J  lift  my  head. 
Gaze  o'er  New  Knylnnd  uncle rspread, 
South  from  &aint  Lawrence  to  the  Sounds 
From  Catskill  east  to  the  sea-bound. 

Oft  as  morning  wreathes  my  scarf 
Fled  the  last  plumule  of  the  Dark, 
Pants  up  hither  the  spruce  clerk 
From  South   Cove  and  City    Wharf. 
1  take  him  up  my  rugged  sides, 
Half  repentant,  scant  of  breath,  — 
Bead-eyes  my  granite  chaos  show, 
And  my  mvlsummer  snow ; 
Open  the  daunting  map  beneath, — 
All  his  country,  sea  and  land. 
Dwarfed  to  measure  <f  his  hand ; 
His  day's  ride  is  a  furlong  space, 
His  city-tops  a  glimmering  haze. 
I  plant  his  eyes  on  the  sky-hoop  bounding: 
"  See  there  the  grim  gray  rounding 
Of  the  bullet  of  the  earth 
Wliereon  ye  sail. 
Tumbling  steep 
In  the  ui' continented  deep.'''' 
He  looks  on  that,  and  he  turns  pale. 
'  Tis  even  so ;  this  treacherous  kite, 
Farm-furrowed,  town-incrusted  sphere, 
Tlionghtless  of  its  anxious  freight. 
l'lii,„T/ni  eyeless  on  forever  ; 
And  he,  pooi'  parasite, 
Cooped  in  a  ship  he  cannot  steer.  — 
fVho  is  the  captain  he  knows  not, 
Poo't  or  pilot  trows  not, — 
Risk  or  ruin  he  must  share. 
J  scowl  on  him  with  my  cloud. 
With  my  north-w'ind  chill  his  blood; 
J  lame  him,  clattering  down  the  rocks; 
And  to  live  he  is  in  fear. 
Then,  at  last,  J  let  him  down 
Once  mor&,  into  his  dapper  tenon. 
To  chatter,  frightened,  to  his  clan, 
And  forget  me  if  he  can. 


Emerbob 


ASCENT   OF  MOUNT  WASHINGTON. 

We  have  thus  far  been  describing  the  appearance  of  Mount  Wasli- 
ington  and  of  the  range  as  they  are  seen  in  the  landscape,  or  directly 
from  the  base.     Now  let  us  hear  the  call : 

Up !  where  the  airy  citadel 

O'erlooks  the  surging  landscape's  swell. 

The  Indians  heard  no  such  invitation  to  mount  the  rocky  cone  where 
"  dappling  shadows  climb."  They  did  not  dare  to  ascend  above  the 
line  of  vegetation.  On  the  ridge  and  the  peaks,  they  said,  the  Great 
Spirit  dwells.  The  darkness  of  the  fire  tempest  pursues  the  steps 
that  rise  above  the  green  leaves.  No  footmarks  are  seen  returning 
from  the  home  of  Manitou  in  the  clouds.  They  had  a  tradition  that 
Passaconaway,  the  sachem  of  Pennacook,  was  once  lifted  in  a  car  of 
flaming  fire  from  the  summit  of  the  ridge  to  a  council  in  heaven. 
He  was  their  Elijah,  as  the  chief  who,  according  to  their  tradition, 
was  saved  on  Mount  Washington  from  a  general  flood,  was  the  In- 
dian Noah.  But  their  general  belief  was,  that  those  who  were  guilty 
of  the  sacrilege  of  ascending  to  where  the  moss  alone  can  grow, 
were  forbidden  to  enter  the  Happy  Land  beyond  the  sunset,  but 
must  wander  forever  as  ghosts  among  the  wild  gorges  and  gloomy 
caverns  of  the  mountains  they  had  dared  to  profane.  Which  is 
nobler,  such  superstitious  veneration  for 

these  dedicated  blocks, 
Which  who  can  tell  what  mason  laid? 

or  the  levity,  and  the  poverty  of  insight  and  joy,  which  thousands  of 
us  carry  not  only  to  the  mountain  valleys,  but  also  to  the  sacred 

43* 


320  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

observatories  from  which  the  Creator  reveals  the  subhmity  of  the 
heavens  and  the  pomp  of  the  land  ?  "  Whereas  the  mediaeval  never 
painted  a  cloud,  but  with  the  purpose  of  placing  an  angel  in  it ;  and 
a  Greek  never  entered  a  wood  without  expecting  to  meet  a  god  in  it ; 
we  should  think  the  appearance  of  an  angel  in  a  cloud  wholly  unnatu- 
ral, and  should  be  seriously  surprised  by  meeting  a  god  anywhere. 

I  do  not  know  if  there  be  game  on  Sinai,  but  I  am  always 

expecting  to  hear  of  some  one  shooting  over  it."  It  is  grand  to  be 
delivered  from  superstition,  but  not  on  the  condition  of  losing  the 
sentiment  of  the  sacred,  the  mystic,  the  a^-ful  in  the  universe,  of 
which  superstition  is  either  the  immaturity  or  the  disease.  We  do 
not  necessarily  gain  in  insight  by  banishing  the  special  sacredness 
which  a  crude  imagination  concentrates  upon  parts  of  nature,  but  by 
discerning  a  nobler  general  sanctity.  A  purblind  vision  is  cured,  not 
when  it  sinks  into  utter  darkness,  but  when  it  receives  more  light. 

There  are  three  paths  for  the  ascent  of  Mount  Washington, — one 
from  the  Crawford  House  at  the  Notch,  one  from  the  White  Moun- 
tain House,  five  miles  beyond  the  Notch,  and  one  from  the  Glen. 
The  path  from  the  White  Mountain  House  requires  the  shortest 
horseback  ride.  Parties  are  carried  by  wagons  up  the  side  of  Mount 
Washington  to  a  point  less  than  three  miles  from  the  summit.  The 
bridle-path,  however,  is  quite  steep,  and  no  time  is  gained  by  this 
ascent.  The  rival  routes  are  those  from  the  Notch  and  the  Glen. 
Each  of  these  has  some  decided  advantages  over  the  other.  The 
Glen  route  is  the  shortest.  For  the  first  four  miles  the  horses  keep, 
the  wide  and  hard  track,  with  a  regular  ascent  of  one  foot  in  eight, 
which  was  laid  out  for  a  carriage  road  to  the  summit,  but  never 
completed.  This  is  a  great  gain  over  the  corduroy  and  mud  through 
the  forests  of  Mount  Clinton,  which  belong  to  the  ascent  from  the 
Notch. 

When  we  rise  up  into  the  region  where  the  real  mountam  scenery 
opens,  the  views  from  the  two  paths  are  entirely  different  in  charac- 
ter, and  it  is  diflBcult  to  decide  which  is  grander.  From  the  Notch, 
as  soon  as  we  ride  out  of  the  forest,  we  are  on  a  mountain  top.     We 


THE   ASCENT   OF  MOUNT  WASHINGTON.  321 

have  scaled  Mount  Clinton,  which  is  4,200  feet  high.  Then  the 
path  follows  the  line  of  the  White  jMountain  ridge.  We  descend  a 
httle,  and  soon  mount  the  beautiful  dome  of  Mount  Pleasant,  which 
is  five  hundred  feet  higher.  Descending  this  to  the  narrow  line  of 
the  ridge  again,  we  come  to  Mount  Franklin,  a  little  more  than  a 
hundred  feet  higher  than  Pleasant,  less  marked  in  the  landscape,  but 
verj  difficult  to  climb.  Beyond  this,  five  hundred  feet  higher  still, 
are  the  double  peaks  of  Mount  Monroe  ;  and  then  winding  down  to 
the  Lake  of  the  Clouds,  from  whence  the  Ammonoosuc  issues,  we 
stand  before  the  cone  of  Mount  Washington,  wliich  springs  more  than 
a  thousand  feet  above  us.  The  views  of  the  ravines  all  along  this 
route,  as  we  pass  over  the  sharpest  portions  of  the  ridge,  and  see 
them  .sweeping  off  each  way  from  the  path,  are  very  exciting.  And 
there  is  the  great  advantage  in  this  approach  to  be  noted,  that  if 
Mount  Washington  is  clouded,  a.nd  the  other  summits  are  clear,  trav- 
ellers do  not  lose  the  sensations  and  the  effects  produced  by  standing 
for  the  first  time  on  a  mountain  peak. 

Sometimes  on  the  path  from  the  Notch  over  the  ridge,  the  cloud- 
effects  add  unspeakable  interest  to  the  journey.  We  have  in  mind, 
as  we  write,  an  attempt  which  we  once  made  with  a  small  party  to 
gain  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington,  on  a  day  when  the  ridge  was 
clouded,  though  the  wind  was  fair.  We  started  in  hope,  and  were 
attended  by  sunshine  nearly  all  the  way  through  the  forest.  But  on 
the  top  of  Clinton  there  is  rain  and  shoreless  fog.  Compelled  to  de- 
scend, we  return  after  reaching  the  lower  sunshine,  in  the  belief  that 
the  squall  has  passed.  But  it  is  raining  more  furiously ;  yet  this 
time  we  press  on,  although  unable  to  see  a  rod  ahead,  assured  by  the 
guide  that  it  will  clear  within  an  hour.  A  slow  and  chilling  ride  for 
half  a  mile  on  the  rocky  ridge  has  begun  to  dishearten  us.  We 
think  of  returning.  But  what  is  this  ?  How  has  this  huge  cone 
leaped  out  of  the  gray,  wet  waste,  and  whence  can  it  catch  this  flush 
of  sunlight  that  sweeps  over  it  ?  It  is  the  dome  of  Mount  Pleasant 
which  our  horses'  feet  had  just  begun  to  climb.  Hardly  can  we 
swing  our  hats  and  scream  our  cheers,  when  it  is  hidden.    The  frolic- 


322  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

some  west  wind  tears  open  the  curtain  at  our  left,  and  shows  Faby« 
an's,  so  snug  in  its  nest  of  green.  But  see,  on  the  right  the  vapors 
melt  under  our  feet,  and  the  unbroken  forests  start  up  as  if  created 
that  instant  in  those  vast  vallejs.  They  are  concealed  as  soon  as 
shown  ;  but  the  dull  cloud  about  our  heads  is  smitten  with  Sunshine, 
and  we  are  dazzled  with  silver  dust.  Now  look  up, — the  whole  sky 
is  unveiled,  and  we  stand  in  an  ocean  of  vapor  overarched  by  a  can- 
opy of  blazing  blue.  The  bright  wind  breaks  the  clouds  in  a  hundred 
places,  scatters  them,  rolls  them  off,  rolls  them  up,  chases  them  far 
towards  the  horizon,  mixes  them  with  the  azure,  shows  us  billow  after 
billow  of  land,  from  the  Green  Mountains  to  Katahdin,  and  at  last 
sweeps  off  the  mist  from  the  pale  green  dome  of  Washington,  and 
invites  us  to  climb  where  the  eye  will  traverse  a  circuit  of  six  hun- 
dred miles. 

Oh !  what  a  joy  it  were  in  vigorous  health, 

To  have  a  liodj',  (this  our  vital  frame 

With  shrinking  sensibility  enilued, 

And  all  the  nice  regards  of  flesh  and  blood,) 

And  to  the  elements  surrender  it 

As  if  it  were  a  spirit! — How  divine, 

The  liberty  for  frail,  for  mortal  man 

To  roam  at  large  among  unpeopled  glens 

And  mountainous  retirements,  only  trod 

By  devious  footsteps;  regions  consecrate 

To  oldest  time !  and,  reckless  of  the  storm 

That  keeps  the  raven  quiet  in  her  nest, 

Be  as  a  presence  or  a  motion, — one 

Among  the  many  there;  and  while  the  mists  i 

Flying,  and  rainy  vapors,  call  out  shapes 

And  phantoms  from  the  crags  and  solid  earth 

As  fast  as  a  musician  scatters  soimds 

Out  of  an  instrument;  and  while  the  streams 

(As  at  a  first  creation  and  in  haste 

To  exercise  their  untried  faculties) 

Descending  from  the  region  of  the  clouds, 

And  starting  from  the  hollows  of  the  earth 

More  multitudinous  every  moment,  rend 

Their  way  before  them, — what  a  joy  to  roam 

An  equal  among  mightiest  energies; 

And  haply  sometimes  with  articulate  voice, 

Amid  the  deafening  tumult,  scarcely  heard 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  323 

By  him  that  utters  it,  exclaim  aloud, 
"  Be  this  continued  so  from  day  to  day, 
Nor  let  the  fierce  commotion  have  an  end. 
Ruinous  though  it  be,  from  month  to  month!  " 

By  the  Glen  route  we  cross  no  subordinate  peaks,  and  do  not  fol 
low  a  ridge  line  from  which  we  see  summits  towering  here  and  there, 
but  steadily  ascend  Mount  Washington  itself.  Ii>.  this  way  a  more 
adequate  conception  is  gained  of  its  immense  mass  and  majestic 
architecture.  After  we  pass  above  the  line  of  the  carriage  road  to 
the  barren  portion  of  the  mountain,  there  are  grand  pictures  at  the 
Bouth  and  east  of  the  Androscoggin  Valley,  and  the  long,  heavily 
wooded  Carter  range.  Indeed,  nothing  which  the  day  can  show  will 
give  more  astonishment  than  the  spectacle  which  opens  after  passing 
through  the  spectral  forest,  made  up  of  acres  of  trees,  leafless,  peeled, 
and  bleached,  and  riding  out  upon  the  ledge.  Those  Avho  make  thus 
their  first  acquaintance  with  a  mountain  height  will  feel,  in  looking 
down  into  the  immense  hollow  in  which  the  Glen  House  is  a  dot,  and 
off  upon  the  vast  green  breastwork  of  Mount  Carter,  that  language 
must  be  stretched  and  intensified  to  answer  for  the  new  sensations 
awakened.  Splendid,  glorious,  amazing,  sublime,  with  liberal  sup- 
phes  of  interjections,  are  the  words  that  usually  gush  to  the  hps  ;  but 
seldom  is  an  adjective  or  exclamation  uttered  that  interprets  the 
scene,  or  coins  the  excitement  and  surge  of  feehng.  We  shall  never 
forget  the  phrase  which  a  friend  once  used, — an  artist  in  expression 
as  in  feeling,  and  not  given  under  strong  stimulant  to  superlatives, — 
as  he  looked,  for  the  first  time,  from  the-  ledge  upon  the  square  miles 
of  undulating  wilderness,  "  See  the  tumultuous  bombast  of  the  land- 
scape !  "  Yet  the  glory  of  the  view  is,  after  all,  the  four  highest 
companion  mountains  of  the  range.  Clay,  Jefferson,  Adams,  Madison, 
that  show  themselves  in  a  bending  fine  beyond  the  tremendous  gorge 
at  the  right  of  the  path,  absurdly  called  the  "  Gulf  of  Mexico,"  and 
are  visible  from  their  roots  to  their  summits.  These  movmtains  are 
not  seen  on  the  ascent  from  the  Notch,  being  hidden  by  the  dome  of 
Mount  Washington  itself.     On  the   Glen  path  these  grand  form^ 


■624: 


THE    AVHITE    HILLS. 


tower  so  near  us  that  it  seems  at  first  as  though  a  strong  arm  might 
throw  a  stone  across  the  Gulf  and  hit  them.  There  should  be  a  rest- 
bg-place  near  the  edge  of  the  ravine,  where  parties  could  dismount 
and  study  these  forms  at  leisure.     Except  bv  climbing  to  the  ridge 


through  the  unbroken  wilderness  of  the  northern  side,  there  is  no 
such  view  to  be  had  east  of  the  Mississippi  of  mountain  architecture 
and  sublimity.  They  do  not  seem  to  be  rocky  institutions.  Their 
lines  have  so  much  life  that  they  appear  to  have  just  leaped  from 
che  deeps  beneath  the  soil.     We  say  to  ourselves,  these  peaks  are 


THE    ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  325 

nature's  struggle  against  petrifaction,  the  earth's  crj  for  air.  If  the 
day  is  not  entirely  clear,  if  great  white  clouds 

Are  wandering  in  thick  flocks  among  the  mountains, 
Shepherded  by  the  slow,  unwilling  wind, 

the  shadows  that  leisurely  trail  along  the  sides  of  these  Titans,  or 
waver  down  their  slopes,  extinguishing  their  color,  as  it  blots  the  dim 
green  of  their  peaks,  then  their  tawny  shoulders,  then  the  purple  and 
gray  of  their  bare  ledges,  and  at  last  dulls  the  verdure  of  their  lower 
forests, — thus  playing  in  perpetual  frolic  with  the  light, — are  more  fas- 
cinating than  anything  which  can  be  seen  from  the  summit  of  Mount 
Washington  itself,  on  the  landscape  below. 

But  let  us  not  begin  by  disparaging  ^t  all  what  is  to  be  seen  ou 
the  summit.  Suppose  that  we  could  be  lifted  suddenly  a  mile  and  a 
quarter  above  the  sea  level  in  the  air,  and  could  be  sustained  there 
without  exertion.  That  is  the  privilege  we  have  in  standing  on  the 
summit  of  Mount  Washington,  about  sixty-three  hundred  feet  above 
the  ocean.  ^  Only  the  view  is  vastly  more  splendid  than  any  that 
could  be  presented  to  us  if  we  could  hang  poised  on  wings  at  the 
same  elevation  above  a  level  country,  or  should  see  nothing  beneath 
us  but  "  the  wrinkled  sea."  For  we  are  not  only  upheld  at  such  a 
height,  but  we  stand  in  close  fellowship  with  the  noblest  forms  which 
the  substance  of  the  world  has  assumed  under  our  northern  skies. 
We  estimate  our  height  from  the  ocean  level,  and  it  is  on  a  wave  that 
we  are  lifted, — a  tremendous  ground-swell  fifteen  miles  long,  which 
stiffened  before  it  could  subside,  or  fling  its  boiling  mass  upon  the 
bubbling  plain.  We  are  perched  on  the  tip  of  a  jet  in  the  centre  of 
it,  tossed  up  five  hundred  feet  higher  than  any  other  spout  from  its 
tremendous  surge,  and  which  was  arrested  and  is  now  fixed  forever 
as  a  witness  of  the  passions  that  have  heaved  more  furiously  in  the 
earth's  bosom  than  any  which  the  sea  has  felt,  and  as  a  "  tower 
of  observance  "  for  sweeping  with  the  eye  the  beauty  that  overlays 
the  globe 

44 


326  THE  whitp:  iiill.s. 

It  maj  be  that  this  billow  of  land  was  cooled  bj  the  sea  A\hen  it 
first  arose,  and  that  these  highest  peaks  around  us  were  the  first  por- 
tions of  New  England  that  saw  the  light.  On  a  clear  morning  or 
evening  the  silvery  gleam  of  the  Atlantic  is  seen  on  the  southeastern 
horizon.  The  waves,  that  form  only  a  transitory  flash  in  the  land- 
scape which  the  mountain  shows  its  guests,  once  broke  in  foam  over 
the  rocks  that  now  are  beaten  only  by  the  winds  which  the  Atlantic 
conjures,  and  covered  by  the  snows  that  mimic  the  whiteness  of  the 
Atlantic  surf,  out  of  which  their  substance  may  have  been  drawn. 
And,  since  the  retreat  of  the  sea,  what  forces  have  been  patiently  at 
work  to  cover  the  stalwart  monarchs  near  us  with  the  beauty  which 
they  reveal !  We  call  them  barren,  but  there  is  a  richer  display  of 
the  creative  power  and  art  on  Mount  Adams  yonder  than  on  any 
number  of  square  miles  in  the  lowlands  of  New  England  equal  to  the 
whole  surface  of  that  mountain.  The  noblest  trees  of  New  England 
are  around  its  base,  and  there  are  firs  on  the  ledge  from  which  its 
peak  springs  that  are  not  more  than  two  inches  high.  Alpine  and  Lap- 
land plants  grow  in  the  crevices  of  its  rocks,  and  adorn  the  edges  of  its 
ravines.  Since  the  sea-wave  washed  its  cone,  the  light  and  the  frosts 
have  been  gnawing  the  shingly  schist,  to  give  room  and  sustenance  for 
the  lichens  that  have  tinted  every  foot  of  its  loosely-shingled  slopes 
Avith  stains  whose  origin  is  more  mysterious  than  any  colors  which  a 
painter  combines, — as  mysterious  as  the  painter's  genius  itself.  The 
storms  of  untold  thousands  of  years  have  chiselled  lines  of  expression 
in  the  mountain,  whose  grace  and  charm  no  landscape  gardening 
on  a  lowland  can  rival ;  and  the  bloom  of  the  richest  conservatory 
would  look  feeble  in  contrast  with  the  hues  that  often  in  morning  and 
evening,  or  in  the  pomp  of  autunm  and  the  winter  desolation,  have 
glowed  upon  it,  as  though  the  Avhole  art  of  God  was  concentrated  in 
making  it  outblush  the  rose,  or  dim  the  sapphire  with  its  flame. 

The  first  effect  of  standing  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington  is 
a  bewildering  of  the  senses  at  the  extent  and  lawlessness  of  the  spec- 
tacle.    It  is  as  though  we  were  looking  upon  a  chaos.     The  land  is 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  327 

tossed  into  a  tempest.  But  in  a  few  moments  we  become  accustomed 
to  this,  and  begin  to  feel  the  joj  of  turning  round  and  sweeping  a 
horizon  Une  that  in  parts  is  drawn  outside  of  New  England.  Then 
we  can  begin  to  inquire  into  the  particulars  of  the  stupendous  dio- 
rama. Northward,  if  the  air  is  not  thick  with  haze,  we  look  beyond 
the  Canada  line.  Southward,  the  "  parded  land  "  stretches  across 
the  borders  of  Massachusetts,  before  it  melts  into  the  horizon.  Do 
you  see  a  dim  blue  pyramid  on  the  far  northeast,  looking  scarcely  more 
substantial  than  gossamer,  but  keeping  its  place  stubbornly,  and  cut- 
ting the  yellowish  horizon  with  the  hue  of  Damascus  steel  ?  It  is 
Katahdin  looming  out  of  the  central  wilderness  of  Maine.  Almost 
in  the  same  line  on  the  southwest,  and  nearly  as  far  away,  do  you 
see  another  filmy  angle  in  the  base  of  the  sky  ?  It  is  Monadnoc, 
which  would  feel  prouder  than  Mont  Blanc,  or  the  frost-sheeted 
Chimborazo,  or  the  topmost  spire  of  the  Himalaya,  if  it  could  know 
that  the  genius  of  Mr.  Emerson  has  made  it  the  noblest  mountain  in 
literature.  The  nearer  range  of  the  Green  Mountains  are  plainly 
visible  ;  and  behind  them  Camel's  Hump  and  Mansfield  tower  in  the 
direction  of  Lake  Champlain.  The  silvery  patch  on  the  north,  that 
looks  at  first  like  a  small  pond,  is  Umbagog  ;  a  little  farther  away 
due  south  a  section  of  the  mirror  of  Winnipiseogee  glistens.  Sebago 
flashes  on  the  southeast,  and  a  little  nearer,  the  twin  Lovell  lakes, 
that  lie  more  prominently  on  the  map  of  our  history  than  on  the  land- 
scape. Next,  the  monotony  of  the  scene  is  broken  by  observing  the 
various  forms  of  the  mountains  that  are  thick  as  "  meadow-mole 
hills," — the  great  Avedge  of  Lafayette,  the  long,  thin  ridge  of  Carter, 
the  broad-based  and  solid  Pleasant  Mountain,  the  serrated  summit  of 
Chocorua,  the  beautiful  cone  of  Kiarsarge,  the  cream-colored  Strat- 
ford peaks,  as  near  alike  in  size  and  shape  as  two  Dromios.  Then 
the  pathways  of  the  rivers  interest  us.  The  hne  of  the  Connecticut 
we  can  follow  from  its  birth  near  Canada  to  the  point  where  it  is  hid- 
den by  the  great  Franconia  wall.  Its  water  is  not  visible,  but  often 
in  the  morning  a  line  of  fog  lies  for  miles  over  the  lower  land, 
counterfeiting  the    serpentine  path  of  its  blue  water   that  bounds 


328  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

two  states.  Two  large  curves  of  the  Androscoggin  ^ye  can  see. 
Broken  portions  of  the  Saco  lie  like  lumps  of  light  upon  the  open 
vallej  to  the  west  of  Kiarsarge.  The  sources  of  the  Merrimack  are 
on  the  farther  slope  of  a  mountain  that  seems  to  be  not  more  than  the 
distance  of  a  rifle-shot.  Directly  under  our  feet  lies  the  cold  Lake 
of  the  Clouds,  whose  water  plunges  down  the  wild  path  of  the  Am- 
monoosuc,  and  falls  more  than  a  mile  before  the  ocean  drinks  it  at 
New  Haven.  And  in  the  sides  of  the  mountain  every  wrinkle  east 
or  west  that  is  searched  by  the  sunbeams,  or  cooled  by  shadows,  is 
the  channel  of  a  bounty  that  swells  one  of  the  three  great  streams 
of  New  England. 

Fast  abides  this  constant  giver, 
Pouring  many  a  cheerful  river. 

And  lastly,  we  notice  the  various  beauty  of  the  valleys  that  slope  off 
from  the  central  range.  No  two  of  them  are  articulated  with  the 
mountain  by  the  same  angles  and  curves.  Stairways  of  charming 
slope  and  bend  lead  down  into  their  sweet  and  many-colored  loveli- 
ness and  bounty. 

Next,  if  the  day  is  favorable,  we  notice  the  shadows.  People  in 
cities,  who  never  see  the  extent  and  outhne  of  a  cloud-shadow,  can 
have  no  idea  of  the  beauty  of  a  range  of  hills,  upon  which  the  hghta 
and  shades  "  march  and  countermarch  in  glorious  apparition."  But 
this  is  nothing  to  the  excitement,  we  may  almost  say  the  intoxica- 
tion, of  seeing  from  a  mountain-top  a  huge  cloud,  miles  in  breadth, 
spanning  a  valley,  shedding  twilight  upon  half  a  dozen  villages  at 
once,  sweeping  along,  chased  by  a  broader  flood  of  splendor,  to 
darken  for  a  moment  the  whole  ridge  on  whose  crown  you  stand, 
and  still  flying  on  before  the  west  wind  to  pour  its  fleet  gloom  over 
range  after  range,  till  it  pauses  in  the  warmer  and  peaceful  spaces 
near  the  eastern  horizon. 

And  the  still  shadows  it  is  in  many  respects  an  equal  privilege  to 
see.  Sydney  Smith  tells  us  that  he  once  looked  upon  a  small  picture 
by  an  eminent  artist,  in  company  with  an  enthusiastic  connoisseur. 


THE   ASCENT   OF    MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  329 

who  said  to  him,  "  Immense  breadth  of  hght  and  shade,  sir,  m  this  pic- 
ture !  "  "  Yes,"  said  the  wit,  greatly  to  the  critic's  disgust,  "  about 
balf  an  inch."  In  the  city  or  level  country  we  know  what  a  shadow 
is  as  cast  from  a  large  tree,  or  from  a  building,  or  a  church-spire. 
But  think  of  a  mighty  mountain-trough,  a  mile  broad  and  fifteen  hun- 
dred feet  deep,  painted  in  a  clear  afternoon,  half  in  gray  and  half  in 
gold !  Think  of  a  pyramid,  more  than  a  thousand  feet  above  the 
ridge,  flaming  on  one  side  while  the  shadow  of  the  other  falls  off  upon 
miles  of  sloping  forest  I  Tliink,  as  the  sun  sets  clear,  of  seeing  the 
outlines  of  half  a  dozen  huge  mountains  photographed  five  times  their 
height,  partly  in  the  valleys  below,  and  partly  upon  the  ranges  be- 
yond !  It  is  thus  that  Nature's  breadth  of  Hght  and  shadow,  her 
actual  contrasts  in  miles  which  the  artist  must  crowd  into  inches, 
are  shown  on  Moiint  Washington  in  clear  weather  by  the  late  and 
early  sun.  The  most  impressive  spectacle  of  this  kind  is  the  shadow 
of  Mount  ^Vashington  itself,  far  and  stUl  upon  the  furrowed  landscape. 
On  a  clear  morning  of  midsummer  it  reaches  beyond  the  Franconia 
line,  and  its  apex  rests  upon  the  side  of  the  broad  Moosehillock. 
Thence  it  shrinks  while  the  sun  rides  higher,  more  sharply  defined  as 
it  contracts,  till  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  it  subsides  into  a  long 
irregular  image  of  the  range  upon  the  Ammonoosuc  intervale  near 
below.  But  in  a  cloudless  evening,  when  there  is  no  haze  on  the 
west,  we  can  see  it  as  a  dusky  triangle,  reaching  over  and  beyond 
the  Carter  range,  and  resting  upon  the  Androscoggin  meadows. 
Thence  it  moves,  displacing  the  day  from  hill-sides  and  valleys  by  its 
lengthening  sides  and  sombre  peak,  till  it  reaches  the  eastern  horizon, 
where  it  actually  mounts  upon  the  mists,  and  overtops  the  solid  hiUs 
"ftith  its  phantom  pyramid,  exultant  for  a  moment  in  the  very  fall  of 
the  sun  which  it  has  conquered,  before  it  fades  in  the  general  gloom. 
Those  who  have  once  seen  this  spectacle,  ask  for  no  other  reward  for 
all  that  it  costs  in  labor  and  discomfort  to  pass  the  night  on  Mount 
Washington. 

Indeed,  the  most  unfavorable  time  for  \isiting  the  summit  is  in  the 
noon  of  a  summer  day  when  the  air  is  hazy.     There  are  no  shadows 


330  THE    WHITE   Hn.LS. 

then,  no  wonders  of  color,  no  vague  reaches  of  distance.  And  yet, 
because  the  air  is  genial  and  the  cone  is  not  veiled  by  mist,  such  a 
day  is  generally  accounted  propitious  by  travellers.  It  is  better  to 
encounter  fogs,  or  sudden  showers,  especially  if  one  has  ever  enjoyed 
before  an  unobstructed  prospect  from  the  peak,  than  to  see  the  land- 
scape spiritless  under  a  sultry  noon.  Cloud-effects  are  the  most  sur- 
pi'ising  and  fascinating  pageants  which  the  ascent  of  the  mountain 
can  disclose.  Let  Mr.  Ruskin  teach  us  that  "  there  is  no  effect  of 
sky  possible  in  the  lowlands  which  may  not  in  equal  perfection  be 
seen  among  the  hills  ;  but  there  are  effects  by  tens  of  thousands,  for- 
ever invisible  and  inconceivable  to  the  inhabitant  of  the  plains,  mani- 
fested among  the  hills  in  the  course  of  one  day.  The  mere  power  of 
familiarity  with  the  clouds,  of  Avalking  with  them  and  above  them^ 
alters  and  renders  clear  our  whole  conception  of  the  baseless  archi- 
tecture of  the  sky  ;  and  for  the  beauty  of  it,  there  is  more  in  a  single 
wreath  of  early  cloud,  pacing  its  way  up  an  avenue  of  pines,  or  paus- 
ing among  the  points  of  their  fringes,  than  in  all  the  white  heaps  that 
fill  the  arched  sky  of  the  plains  from  one  horizon  to  the  other.  And 
of  the  nobler  cloud-manifestations, — the  breaking  of  their  troublous 
seas  against  the  crags,  their  black  spray  sparklmg  with  Hghtning; 
or  the  going  forth  of  the  morning  along  their  pavements  of  moving 
marble,  level-laid  between  dome  and  dome  of  snow  ; — of  these  things 
there  can  be  as  httle  imagination  or  understanding  in  an  inhabitant 
of  the  plains  as  of  the  scenery  of  another  planet  than  his  own." 

Certainly  the  richest  pictures  that  rise  to  us,  as  we  write,  out  of 
the  memory  of  more  than  a  score  of  visits  to  Mount  Washington,  are 
combined  out  of  clouds.  We  see  again  the  gray  scud  driving  over 
the  peak  as  we  approach  it,  and  as  we  ride  up  into  its  thickening 
mass,  feel  the  force  of  the  hne. 

From  the  fixed  cone  the  cloud-rack  flowed; 

we  remember  how  dispirited  the  visitors  on  the  summit  seem  in  the 
chilly  gloom,  and  we  see  the  fog  filled  with  yellow  light,  then  thin- 
ning away  and  knitting  itself  together  in  an  instant,  but  soon  blown 


THE   ASCENl    OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  33I 

apart  by  the  breeze  to  let  the  color  of  the  nearer  forests,  and  then  of 
the  lowlands,  glow  through,  dimlj  first  and  confused,  in  another  sec- 
ond distinct  and  blinding,  but  soon  orderly  and  glorious,  as  perhaps 
the  realities  of  another  existence  may  break  upon  saintly  eyes  that 
emerge  from  the  mists  of  death.  We  recall  the  strange  gathering  of 
vapors  out  of  a  cloudless  air  in  the  early  morning,  and  how  they  hang 
in  a  circle  five  miles  in  diameter  over  the  dome  of  Washington,  and 
a  thousand  feet  above,  while  elsewhere  the  blue  is  undimmed, — a 
magnificent  canopy  above  the  rocky  throne  of  New  Hampshire.  We 
behold  again  the  settling  of  heavy  clouds  over  the  slopes  as  we  de- 
scend, wrapping  us  in  blackness  of  darkness  ;  and,  hastening  on 
through  furious  gusts,  we  come  to  the  lower  fringes  of  the  tempest, 
and  look  back  and  up  to  see  it  crouched  over  the  ravines  of  Clay, 
from  which  vast  sheets  of  vapor  are  swept  by  the  wind,  their  lower 
edges  sulphurous  as  they  rush  into  the  light,  and  now  and  then  the 
whole  mass  whirling  apart  to  show  the  dark  masses  of  Madison  and 
Adams  towering  in  treble  height  through  the  gloom.  And  then  such 
glimpses  of  the  valleys !  Sinai  behind  and  Beulah  before  !  We  be- 
hold once  more,  too,  with  the  mind's  eye,  the  thin  veil  into  which  a 
dogday  shower  has  wasted  itself,  that  hangs  wet  and  still  in  the  sun 
before  the  three  mountains  which  rise  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, — a 
silver  sheen  dimming  and  adorning  their  sinewy  bulk.  We  are  over- 
taken by  a  rain  that  rages  against  us  out  of  the  west ;  and  after  it  is 
3pent,  we  see  a  rainbow  arching  over  the  long  line  of  the  Carter 
range,  and  painting  its  blue-black  forests  at  each  end  with  variegated 
flames.  We  stand,  also,  on  the  summit  in  the  morning  when  the  sky 
is  clear,  and  view  a  wide  plain  of  billowy  mist 

rolling  on 
Under  the  curdling  winds,  and  islanding 
The  peak  whereon  we  stand. 

And  we  look  around,  and  see  the  neighboring  summits  jutting  like- 
wise above  the  foam,  which  rolls,  and  tosses,  and  plunges,  and  splin- 
ters into  spray,  as  though  with  its  milky  spume  it  was  appointed  to 
mimic  the  passion  of  the  sea  and  the  majesty  of  Niagara.    If  one  has 


332  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

made  several  visits  to  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  he  is  peculiarljp 
fortunate,  if  the  scenery  shown  to  him  enables  him  to  give  distinctness 
to  most  of  the  pictures  in  the  remarkable  panorama  which  Percival 
thus  unrolls : — 

Ye  Clouds  who  are  the  ornnment  of  heaven ; 

Who  give  to  it  its  gayest  shadowings, 

And  its  most  awful  glories;  ye  who  roll 

In  the  dark  tempest,  or  at  dewy  evening 

Hang  low  in  tenderest  beauty;  ye  who,  ever 

Changing  your  Protean  aspects,  now  are  gathered 

Like  fleecy  piles,  when  the  mid-sun  is  brightest, 

Even  in  the  height  of  heaven,  and  there  repose, 

Solemnly  calm,  witliout  a  visible  motion, 

Hour  after  hour,  looking  upon  the  earth 

With  a  serenest  smile; — or  ye  who,  rather. 

Heaped  in  those  sulphury  masses,  heavily 

Jutting  above  their  bases,  like  the  smoke 

Poured  from  a  furnace  or  a  roused  volcano, 

Stand  on  the  dun  horizon,  threatening 

Lightning  and  storm, — who,  lifted  from  the  hills, 

March  onward  to  the  zenith,  ever  darkening, 

And  heaving  into  more  gigantic  towers 

And  mountainous  piles  of  blackness, — who  then  roar 

With  the  collected  winds  within  your  womb, 

Or  the  far  uttered  thunders, — who  ascend 

Swifter  and  swifter,  till  wide  overhead 

Your  vanguards  curl  and  toss  upon  the  tempest 

Like  tlie  stirred  ocean  on  a  reef  of  rocks 

Just  topping  o'er  its  waves,  while  deep  below 

The  pregnant  mass  of  vapor  and  of  flame 

Rolls  with  an  awful  pomp,  and  grimly  lowers, 

Seeming  to  the  struck  eye  of  fear,  the  car 

Of  an  offended  spirit,  whose  swart  features 

Glare  through  the  sooty  darkness,  fired  with  vengeance 

And  ready  with  uplifted  hand  to  smite 

And  scourge  a  guilty  nation ;  ye  who  lie, 

After  the  storm  is  over,  fiir  away. 

Crowning  the  dripping  forests  with  the  arch 

Of  beauty,"  such  as  lives  alone  in  heaven, 

Bright  daughter  of  the  sun,  bending  around 

From  mountain  unto  moiuitain  like  the  wreath 

Of  victory,  or  like  a  banner  telling 

Of  joy  and  gladness;  ye  who  round  the  moon 

Assemble,  when  she  sits  in  the  mid-sky 

In  perfect  brightness,  and  encircle  her 


THE   ASCENT   OF  MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  383 

With  a  fair  wreath  of  all  aerial  dyes; 
Ye  who,  thus  liovering  round  her,  shine  like  mountains 
Whose  tops  are  never  darkened,  but  remain, 
Centuries  and  countless  ages,  reai'ed  for  temples 
Of  purity  and  light;  or  ye  who  crowd 
To  hail  the  new-born  day,  and  hang  for  him. 
Above  his  ocean  couch,  a  canopy 
Of  all  inimitable  hues  and  colors, 
Such  as  are  only  pencilled  by  the  liands 
Of  the  unseen  ministers  of  earth  and  air, 
Seen  only  in  the  tinting  of  the  clouds. 
And  the  soft  shadowing  of  plumes  and  flowers; 
Or  ye  who,  following  iu  his  funeral  train, 
Light  up  your  torches  at  his  sepulchre, 
And  open  on  us  through  the  clefted  hills 
Far  glances  into  glittering  worlds  beyond 
The  twilight  of  the  grave,  where  all  is  light 
Golden  and  glorious  light,  too  full  and  high 
For  mortal  eye  to  gaze  on,  stretching  out 
Brighter  and  ever  brighter,  till  it  spread, 
Like  one  wide,  radiant  ocean  without  bounds 
One  infinite  sea  of  glory: — thus,  ye  clouds 
And  in  ii:numerable  other  shapes 
Of  greatness  or  of  beauty,  ye  attend  us, 
,  To  give  to  the  wide  arch  above  us  Life 

And  all  its  changes.     Thus  it  is  to  us 
A  volume  full  of  wisdom,  but  without  ye 
One  awful  uniformity  had  ever 
With  too  severe  a  majesty  oppressed  us 

In  order  to  see,  within  a  few  hours,  the  most  impressive  spectaclee 
which  the  ridge  displays,  visitors  should  devote  a  whole  afternoon  to 
the  summit,  and  stay  all  night,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  sun  set  and 
rise.  The  first  visit  of  this  kind  that  we  made  was  reported,  in  part, 
as  follows,  for  an  editorial  friend  : — 

"  I  send  you  a  greeting,  this  morning,  from  the  cupola  of  New 
Hampshire.  If,  perchance,  you  are  suifering  from  heat  when  this 
missive  reaches  you,  let  your  eyes  cool  themselves  by  reading  that 
just  outside  the  Tip-Top  Hoiise  the  mercury  is  at  34  degrees,  while 
the  wind  is  sweeping  in  rage  over  the  peak  of  the  burly  monarch. 
Eastward  a  gale  would  find  no  such  elevation  this  side  the  Alps ; 
westward  none  till  it  should  strike  the  Rocky  Mountains.     I  passed 

45 


334  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

last  night  here.  This  is  my  seventh  ascent  of  Mount  Washington  ; 
and  yet,  though  I  was  once  here  so  late  as  sunset,  I  never  till  now 
slept  on  the  summit. 

"  Yesterday  promised  so  well  for  the  excursion  that  I  could  not 
resist  the  temptation.  The  temperature  in  the  valley  was  a  pleasant 
summer  heat.  The  ride  on  one  of  the  ponies  from  the  Glen  up  the 
regular  slope  of  the  carriage-path,  which  has  now  turned  the  ledge, — 
th\is  overcoming  the  most  perilous  part  of  the  rocky  ascent,  as  it  had 
before  obviated  the  unpleasant  mud  and  corduroy  of  the  forest, — was 
very  easy.  Gaining  the  ridge,  after  passing  through  the  bleached 
forest,  in  which  one  ought  not  to  be  surprised  if  he  should  be  sud- 
denly greeted  by  the  witches  of  Macbeth,  and  just  where  the  first 
sublimity  breaks  upon  the  eye, — the  deep  green  walls  of  the  Carter 
Mountain  behind  ;  the  pebbly  path  of  the  Peabody,  and  the  tortuous 
flashes  of  the  Androscoggin  below  ;  and  the  tawny  spires  of  Adams, 
JeflFerson,  and  Madison  in  front,  soaring  precipitous  out  of  the  luxu- 
riant forests, — we  felt  the  keen  breath  of  a  norther,  which  promised 
a  rude  reception  on  the  summit.  We  rose,  indeed,  by  cHmates  as 
well  as  ridges.  It  was  July  in  Gorham  ;  late  September  on  the 
ledge  ;  November  at  the  apex.  The  pony  I  rode  seemed  to  have  an 
appetite  for  sublimity  bathed  in  Arctic  air.  It  was  his  first  ascent 
of  the  mountain  ;  and  he  clambered  and  snorted  with  e\ddent  glee, 
seizing  every  opportunity  to  trot  among  the  sharp  rocks, — a  process 
which  served  more  to  exhilarate  him  than  to  convey  exquisite  pleasure 
to  the  rider. 

"  But  if  we  met  a  rough  reception  from  old  Boreas,  we  had  a 
warm  one  from  the  enterprising  keepers  of  the  Summit  House.  Hos- 
pitality at  sixty-three  hundred  feet  above  the  Atlantic  is  a  virtue  to 
be  celebrated.  Suppose  you  do  pay  a  dollar  for  the  shelter,  the  fire, 
and  the  excellent  dinner  furnished  to  you  on  the  bleak  crest  of  New 
England.  What  do  these  men  undergo  to  invite  that  donation  from 
you  ?  Do -they  not  duplicate  their  winter  ?  Do  they  not  pitch  their 
tents  for  months  higher  than  the  -eagles  will  build  their  nests  ?  Do 
fchey  not  make  their  home  for  days  among  blinduig  fogs  and  sweeping 


THE   ASCENT  OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  335 

sleet  ?  Do  they  not  pass  wild  nights  away  from  all  human  fellow- 
ship, when  the  rains  that  feed  the  Saco  and  swell  the  Connecticut 
beat  and  divide  on  the  roof  of  their  cabin,  and  the  blasts  tug  with 
infuriate  breath  at  the  loose  rock-tiles  that  sheathe  this  savage  dome  ? 
Do  they  not  make  their  home  among  lightnings  that  often  spout 
around  them  amid  gusts  that  drown  the  thunder  ?  The  benefit  is 
BO  great,  and  the  toil  of  the  earning  so  severe,  that  we  travellers 
ought  to  pay  our  dollar  with  no  mercenary  abatement  of  gratitude  to 
these  spirited  mountaineers,  who  have  organized  their  Yankee  '  St. 
Bernard '  hospitality  on  the  cold  crest  of  our  north.  In  fact,  one  of 
our  hosts,  with  his  bearded  face,  his  careful  gait,  and  those  serious 
eyes  set  in  a  head  that  contains  more  of  the  wild  traditions  of  the 
mountains  than  any  other  among  us,  looks  like  a  monk.  There  are 
faithful  ft'Tf-ers,  too,  in  the  establishment,  as  the  copious  supplies  of 
doughnuts  attest,  but  they  keep  themselves  hidden  in  the  kitchen 
department. 

"  Upon  the  summit  I  had  the  fortune  to  meet  two  cherished  Bos- 
ton friends.  One  hurried  to  our  mountain  passes  to  listen  to  the 
reverberations  that  are  rolling  around  New  England,  since  the  Ugh1> 
ning  of  his  Fourth  of  July  Address.  By  his  serene  appearance  he 
justifies  much  more  the  title  which  Mr.  Willis  has  given  him, — '  The 
Apostle  of  Friendship,' — than  the  Boanerges  character  attributed  to 
him  by  the  political  journals  hostile  to  his  oration.  With  him  you 
were  kind  enough  to  send  us,  also,  one  of  your  judges,  as  fitted  by 
the  polished  delicacy  of  his  taste  to  pronounce  on  those  charms  of 
scenery  in  which  no  region  of  this  hill-country  will  ever  be  bankrupt, 
as  by  his  acumen  to  interpret  and  apply  the  slippery  laws  of  insol- 
vency. What  a  privilege,  after  the  wit-seasoned  meal,  to  clamber 
over  the  old  cone  with  such  companions,  and  look  abroad  upon  New 
England, — far  off  beyond  the  northerly  borders  of  the  Connecticut ; 
far  south  to  the  mouth  of  the  Saco  ;  east  to  where  Katahdin  drives 
his  spike  into  the  sky,  and  west  almost  to  the  Catskills  ! 

"  The  larger  part  of  the  afternoon  was  devoted  to  the  great  ra- 
vines.    The  mass  of  Washington  tannot  be  appreciated  until  we  see 


336  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

what  enormous  gullies  have  heen  cut  into  it,  still  leaving  it  more 
bulky  tlu'n  any  other  four  mountains  of  the  range.  There  is  am- 
ple time,  wt  found,  in  two  hours,  to  go  to  the  edges  of  the  three 
grandest  chasms  which  give  character  to  the  mountain  when  seen 
from  the  south  and  east,  and  which  can  scarcely  be  seen  at  all  from 
cither  of  the  bridle-paths.  The  first  of  these,  '  The  Grand  Gulf,'  has 
the  sheerest  precipices,  the  most  savage-looking  debris,  and  the 
sharpest  pinnacles.  I  felt  special  interest  in  studying  its  lines,  on 
account  of  the  admiration  I  had  felt  for  Mr.  Coleman's  painting  of 
its  romantic  ruins.  Tuckerman's  Ravine,  which  lies  a  little  farther 
to  the  west,  is  a  far  more  spacious  rent  in  the  mountain.  I  shall 
make  an  excursion  into  it  the  subject  of  a  separate  letter  ;  and  there- 
fore will  pass  to  '  The  Gulf  of  Mexico,'  the  third  of  the  ravines,  to 
which  we  devoted  the  most  time.  We  were  obliged  to  take  care,  as 
we  stood  on  its  perilous  edge,  that  the  wind  did  not  sweep  us  from 
our  footing  into  its  depths  of  air.  This  gulf  is  a  cleft  between  Wash- 
ington and  Mount  Jefferson.  Its  western  wall,  richly  marked  by 
water-lines  and  ravaged  by  landslides,  is  called  Mount  Clay.  It 
balances  on  the  north  the  deeply  cut  Tuckerman's  Ravine  on  the 
south.  Seen  from  the  bottom,  the  last  is  the  grander.  Looking 
down  from  the  top,  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  is  the  more  terrible.  And 
while  the  first  has  only  even  walls  to  rim  its  desolation,  the  last  is 
crowned  by  Mount  Jefferson,  and  commands  a  grand  view  also  of 
Adams  and  Madison.  And  the  afternoon  is  the  time  to  see  it, — when 
the  sun  pours  a  sheet  of  light,  as  yesterday,  up  the  whole  southerly 
wall  of  chippy  rock,  tinged  with  pale-green  lichen,  and  the  bottom  of 
the  pit  lies  dark  under  the  grim  guard  of  the  three  peaks  that  bend 
around  it  on  the  northeast,  and  have  lost  the  sun.  Those  that  have 
not  seen  this  view  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  in  a  cle^r  afternoon,  are 
unacquainted  with  one  of  the  grandest  spectacles  which  the  summit 
of  Mount  Washington  affords. 

"  But  let  us  return  to  the  house,  and  wait  patiently  for  sunset — for 
the  purple  that  we  shall  see  crowning  a  score  of  ridges  ;  for  the  slow 
march  of  the  pointed  shadows  of  our  range  up  the  opposite  slopes  of 


THE   ASCENT   OF  MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  337 

Carter,  and  off  towards  Conwaj,  dislodging  the  daj  from  the  hill-tops, 
as  they  move  south  and  east ;  and  for  the  calm  sinking  of  the  sun 
beneath  a  horizon  a  hundred  miles  away,  twenty  minutes  after  the 
valleys  have  seen  his  exit.  Alas  for  our  expectation  !  About  seven 
in  the  evening,  the  north  wind,  which  had  dashed  against  us  all  day, 
came  upon  us  in  all  '  pomp  and  circumstance,'  with  banners  and 
streamers  flying.  The  scud  settled  to  our  level,  and  drove  past  us 
with  fury,  to  the  keen  fife-music  of  the  gale.  The  thermometer  was 
at  about  the  freezing  point.  At  first,  it  was  a  severe  disappoint- 
ment. But  we  soon  found  that  we  had  been  robbed  of  one  privilege 
to  receive  perhaps  a  greater.  The  old  mountain  was  determined  to 
show  us  his  teeth,  and  to  snarl  a  little.  What  fascinating  glimpses 
of  green  were  given  through  frequent  rifts  in  the  hurrying  fog !  How 
intense,  far  off  towards  the  western  horizon,  blazed  a  small  lake,  or 
fragment  of  river,  on  which  the  sun,  hidden  from  us  by  the  clouds,  was 
shining, — a  solid  lump  of  diamond  light, — the  great  carbuncle,  per- 
haps, of  the  mountain  tradition  !  And  then  what  splendid  colors  in 
the  furious  mists  !  Now  they  would  thin  away,  and  be  transfused 
with  yellow,  as  they  were  blown  southwards.  Now  they  would  coil 
around  us  lurid,  as  if  volumes  of  fire-tipped  smoke,  surging  up  from  a 
burning  world.  For  a  moment  they  would  be  dissipated  by  the  sun- 
shine, melting  utterly  away  in  cold  silvery  fiickers,  and  then  would 
close  around  us  again  thick,  turbulent,  and  gray.  Just  as  the  sun 
was  disappearing,  we  saw  his  ruddy  disc,  through  a  rift,  for  a  min- 
ute ;  and  bade  him  farewell  in  the  hope  of  greeting  him  in  an  un- 
clouded and  peaceful  east,  when  he  should  return,  after  sinking  into 
the  Pacific,  dawning  on  China,  and  kindling  the  sheeted  walls  and 
turrets  of  the  Himalaya  with  morning  gold. 

"  And  now  shall  we  lose  the  moon-rise  ?  No  ;  the  propitious  va- 
pors opened  in  season,  as  they  did  at  sunset.  About  nine  they  began 
to  thin  away,  and  drove  southwards  into  the  eyes  of  the  moon,  break- 
ing in  spectral  battalions  on  its  solid  orb,  to  be  steeped  in  amber  for 
a  moment,  and  then  whified  into  nothingness.  After  a  time,  the 
heavens  were  swept  clean,  and  the  moon  moved  patiently  up  among 


338  THE   WHITE   Hn.LS. 

the  constellations,  looking  serenely  upon  the  gulfs,  and  pits,  and 
blasted  peaks  of  the  mountains,  that  are  less  ravaged  and  desolate 
than  the  continent  which  her  own  pensive  halo  swathes.  But  what 
are  all  the  grandeurs  of  these  pimple-hills  to  that  calm,  cold  splendor 
that  looks  through  the  fresh-swept  air, — that  tremendous  circuit  of 
star?,  from  the  nearest  of  which  our  globe  is  invisible  and  unsuspected, 
whose  light,  unshaken  by  our  blustering  Boreas,  converges  on  this 
lonely  peak, — that  awful  dome  which  floats  in  immensity  on  the 
pulses  of  impalpable  force !  I  did  not  expect  to  get  a  sense  of  the 
height  of  Mount  Washington  by  looking  up  from  its  roof,  rather  than 
by  looking  down.  But  so  it  was.  I  have  never,  in  standing  on  the 
edge  of  the  ravine  near  Mount  Monroe,  or  upon  the  plateau  that 
crowns  the  Tuckerman  gulf,  gained  such  a  feehng  of  its  loftiness  and 
loneliness,  as  in  looking  up,  last  night,  Avhen  the  valleys  were  veiled, 
to  the  Dipper  and  the  Zenith.  Half  a  minute  at  a  time  was  all  my 
brain  could  bear,  I  can  conceive  how  Prometheus,  chained  on  '  the 
frosty  Caucasus,'  could  endure  the  vulture,  and  the  cold,  and  the 
pelting  hail,  but  I  cannot  imagine  how  the  poets  strengthened  him 
for  the  calm  and  brilliant  nights,  and  the  terrible  sense  of  space  they 
brought  to  him.  To  be  fastened  one  night  on  Mount  Washington 
alone,  compelled  to  face  the  firmament,  I  am  sure  would  almost 
crush  my  reason. 

"  In  fact,  I  have  not  yet  recovered  from  the  glimpses  I  took. 
The  wind  swept  all  night  over  us  in  an  unabating  gale  ;  and  as  I 
lay  under  the  blankets  of  the  Summit  House,  that  view  of  the  sky 
haunted  me,  and  drove  away  sleep.  I  seemed  to  have  a  sensation 
of  the  earth's  motion, — that  we  were  lying  in  that  little  foretop  of 
New  England,  while  our  planet  ship  was  scudding,  twelve  hundred 
miles  a  minute,  over  the  star-islanded  immensity. 

"  And  other  terrors  connected  with  darkness  and  storm  on  Mount 
Washington  Avere  present  also.  The  roaring  wind  recalled  Shel- 
ley's lines, — 

Listen,  listen,  Mary  mine. 

To  the  whisper  of  the  Apennines 


THE    ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  B39 

It  bursts  on  the  roof  like  the  thunder's  roar, 

Or  like  the  sea  on  a  northern  shore, 

Heard  in  its  raging  ebb  and  flow 

By  tlie  captives  jient  in  the  cave  below. 

The  Apennine  in  the  light  of  day 

Is  a  mighty  mountain  dim  and  gray, 


But  wlien  night  comes,  a  chaos  dread 

On  the  dim  starlight  then  is  spread. 

And  the  Apennine  walks  abroad  with  the  storm. 

The  wintry  wrath  of  the  gale,  and  the  occasional  gloom  of  the  thick- 
ening scud,  seemed  the  more  dreadful  when  I  thought, — may  there 
not  be  death  in  it  ?  is  it  not  possible  that  some  travellers,  in  search 
of  the  Summit  House,  have  lost  the  path  since  sunset,  and  are  in 
danger  of  perishing  among  the  wild  rocks  ?  You  know  that  suffering 
and  death  are  giving  Mount  Washington  a  tragical  celebrity.  Then 
was  the  time  to  feel  the  meaning  of  that  pile  of  stones,  but  a  few  rods 
below  the  inn,  which  tells  where  Miss  Bourne,  overtaken  by  night 
and  fog,  and  exhausted  by  cold,  breathed  out  her  life  into  the  bleak 
cloud.  She  started  from  the  Glen  House,  with  her  uncle  and  cousin, 
in  the  afternoon  of  a  lovely  day  of  mid-September,  to  walk  on  the 
carriage-road  as  far  as  the  first  opening  that  permits  a  wide  easterly 
view.  Arrived  there,  although  they  had  no  guide,  they  were  tempted 
on  towards  the  summit  by  the  inspiriting  air  and  sky.  But  fog  at 
sunset  settled  over  the  path ;  the  wind  became  fierce  and  cutting ; 
the  peak  seemed  to  recede  as  they  advanced ;  and  the  young  lady 
sank  at  last  exhausted  in  the  darkness,  within  hailing  distance  of  the 
hotel,  and  died  about  ten  o'clock.  I  could  not  keep  out  of  my  mind 
the  picture  of  that  group, — the  building  of  the  stony  wall  to  protect 
the  dying  girl  from  the  fury  of  the  tempest,  the  agony  of  the  rela- 
tives as  they  found  that  her  life  was  ebbing,  their  horror  amid  the 
darkness, — for  there  Avas  not  a  ray  of  starlight  to  show  them  her  fea- 
tures,— and  after  the  spirit  had  fled,  their  awful  watch  until  morning  ! 
I  have  compared  the  public  houses  here  to  the  inn  on  the  St.  Ber- 
nard. And  when  we  thmk  of  the  disaster  just  referred  to  ;  when  we 
look  off  into  the  ravine,  sloping  towards  Fabyan's,  where  the  English- 


B40  I'HE   WHITE   HILLS. 

man,  Strickland,  perished  in  October  ;  when  we  see  the  spot,  in  full 
view  of  the  Glen  House,  where  Dr.  Ball  lay  helpless  and  freezing  in 
the  snow,  after  two  nights'  exposure,  without  food  or  fire,  in  an  Octo- 
ber storm ;  when  we  recall  the  number  of  persons  whom  Mr.  Hall, 
one  of  the  present  landlords  of  the  summit,  has  saved  from  impend- 
ing death,  and  remember  that  the  bones  of  an  elderly  traveller,*  lost 
on  the  ridge  last  summer,  lie  bleaching  now  undiscovered,  —who  can 
say  that  the  service  which  the  dogs  of  the  St.  Bernard  have  ren- 
dered, might  not  be  repeated  on  Mount  Washington,  if  the  houses 
should  be  supplied  with  some  of  those  noble  animals,  and  should  be 
kept  open  a  few  Aveeks  later  in  the  autumn  ? 

"  The  wildness  of  the  night  affected  my  pleasure  in  seeing  the  sun- 
rise, a  few  hours  ago.  A  mist  lay  over  all  the  valleys.  The  moun- 
tains heaved  their  sharp  ridges  out  of  an  ocean  of  stagnant  foam.  A 
wide  bank  of  dingy  fog  lay  along  the  eastern  sky.  Over  this  arti- 
ficial horizon  we  saw  the  advent  of  the  morning, — the  wide  flush  of 
red  around  a  third  of  the  vast  circuit,  the  bubbling  of  rosy  glory  over 
its  fleecy  rim,  the  peep  of  the  burning  disc,  and  the  gradual  mount- 
ing of  the  light,  showing  how 

tenderly  the  haughty  day 
Fills  his  blue  urn  with  fire. 

The  scene  interpreted  these  new  lines  of  Mr.  Emerson,  and  also 
recalled  to  me  the  passage  from  BroAvning's  '  Pippa  Passes " :  — 

Day ! 

Faster  and  more  fast, 

O'er  night's  brim,  day  boils  at  last; 

Boils,  pure  gold,  o'er  the  cloud-cup's  brim, 

Where  spurting  and  supprest  it  lay — 

For  not  a  froth-flake  touched  the  rim 

Of  yonder  gap  in  the  solid  gray 

Of  the  eastern  cloud,  an  hour  away; 

But  forth  one  wavelet,  then  another,  curled, 

Till  the  whole  sunrise,  not  to  be  supprest. 

Rose,  i-eddened,  and  its  seething  breast 

Flickered  in  bounds,  grew  gold,  then  overflowed  tne  •world. 

♦  Jlr.  Benjamin  Chandler  of  Delaware,  whose  remains,  after  lying  nearly  a  year  no! 
ar  from  the  summit,  were  discovered  a  few  weeks  after  this  letter  was  written. 


THE   ASCENT   OF    MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  341 

•'  The  dawn  Avas  magnificent ;  but  when  I  ascend  Mount  Washing- 
ton again,  it  will  be  to  see  the  night.  0  that  the  great  comet  would 
come,  to  be  watched  from  such  an  observatory  !  And  now  let  me 
say  '  good-bye '  to  my  pleasant  companions,  the  eloquent  ex-orator 
and  the  rapier- Avitted  judge,  who  are  going  down  by  the  Crawford 
path  ;  to  our  excellent  hosts ;  and  to  you,  my  friend,  in  your  edi- 
torial sanctum,  as  I  turn  my  face  aAvay  from  the  billoAvy  majesty 
that  surrounds  the  summit,  for  the  descent  towards  the  Glen  and 
Gorham." 

And  we  well  remember  how  sublime  the  cloud-scenery  was  to 
which  that  lonely  downward  walk,  after  our  first  acquaintance  with 
night  and  sunrise  from  the  summit,  introduced  us.  At  seven  o'clock, 
with  the  exception  of  the  fog-bank  in  the  east,  the  sky  Avas  clear. 
But  as  early  as  ten,  the  air  Avas  filled,  as  by  miracle,  with  piles  and 
ranges  of  snoAvy  vapor,  with  whose  highest  peaks  the  cone  of  Chim- 
borazo  could  compete  in  color  alone.  "  We  are  little  apt,  in  watch- 
ing the  changes  of  a  mountainous  range  of  cloud,  to  reflect  that  the 
masses  of  vapor  Avhich  compose  it  are  huger  and  higher  than  any 
mountain  range  of  the  earth  ;  that  the  distance  betAveen  mass  and 
mass  are  not  yards  of  air  traversed  in  an  instant  by  the  flying  foam, 
but  valleys  of  changing  atmosphere  leagues  over  ;  that  the  slow  mo- 
tion of  ascending  curves,  Avhich  Ave  can  scarcely  trace,  is  a  boiling 
energy  of  exulting  vapor  rushing  into  the  heaven  a  thousand  feet  in 
a  minute  ;  and  that  the  toppling  angle  Avhose  sharp  edge  almost  es- 
capes notice  in  the  multitudinous  forms  around  it,  is  a  nodding  preci- 
pice of  storms,  three  thousand  feet  from  base  to  summit.  It  is  not 
until  we  have  actually  compared  the  forms  of  the  sky  Avith  the  hill 
ranges  of  the  earth,  and  seen  the  soaring  Alp  overtopped  and  buried 
in  one  surge  of  the  sky,  that  Ave  begin  to  conceive  or  appreciate  the 
colossal  scale  of  the  phenomena  of  the  latter.  But  of  this  there  can 
be  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  one  accustomed  to  trace  the  forms  of 
clouds  among  hill  ranges, — as  it  is  there  a  demonstrable  and  evident 
fact,  that  the  space  of  vapor  visibly  extended  over  an  ordinarily 

46 


342  THE   WHITE   HH.LS. 

cloudy  skjr  is  not  less,  from  the  point  nearest  to  the  observer  to  the 
horizon,  than  twenty  leagues  ;  that  the  size  of  every  mass  of  separate 
form,  if  it  be  at  all  largely  divided,  is  to  be  expressed  in  terms  of 
tm'les  ;  and  that  every  boihng  heap  of  illuminated  mist  in  the  nearer 
sky  is  an  enormous  mountain,  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  feet  in 
height,  six  or  seven  miles  over  in  illuminated  surface,  furrowed  by  a 
thousand  colossal  ravines,  torn  by  local  tempests  into  peaks  and  prom- 
ontories, and  changing  its  features  with  the  majestic  velocity  of  the 
volcano."  And  thus  the  memory  of  the  lurid  sunset  and  the  mai-- 
vellous  cloud-diorama  of  the  forenoon  have  given  us  a  fresh  appre- 
ciation of  the  passage  from  Bayard  Taylor's  "  Hymn  to  the  Air  "  : — 

What  is  the  scenery  of  Earth  to  thine  V 

Here  all  is  fixed  in  everlasting  shapes, 
But  where  the  reahns  of  gorgeous  Cloudland  shine, 

There  stietch  afar  thy  sun-illumined  capes. 
Embaying  reaches  of  the  amber  seas 

Of  sunset,  on  whose  tranquil  bosom  lie 

The  happy  islands  of  the  upper  sky, 
The  halcyon  shores  of  thine  Atlantides. 
Anon  the  airy  headlands  change,  and  drift 

Into  sublimer  forms,  that  slowly  heave 

Their  toppling  masses  up  the  front  of  eve. 
Crag  heaped  on  crag,  with  many  a  fiery  rift, 
And  hoary  summits,  throned  beyond  the  reach 

Of  Alp  or  Caucasus;  again  they  change, 

And  down  the  vast,  interminable  range 
Of  towers  and  palaces,  transcending  each 
The  workmanship  of  Fable-Land,  we  see 

The  "crystal  hyaline"  of  Heaven's  own  floor — 
The  radiance  of  the  far  Eternity 
Reflected  on  thy  shore ! 

Everybody  that  visits  the  eastern  side  of  the  mountains  hears  of 
the  snow-arch  in  one  of  the  ravines  of  Mount  Washington.  It  is. 
doubtless,  to  be  ranked  first  among  the  curiosities  which  can  tempt  a 
pedestrian.  Parties  can  descend  to  it  with  a  guide  from  the  hotel  oe 
the  summit  of  Mount  Washington — a  distance  of  a  mile  and  a  quar- 
ter,— or  can  climb  to  it  from  the  Glen — a  distance  of  not  less  than 
5ve  miles.     It  has  been  our  good  fortune  to  make  four  visits  to  it 


THE    ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  343 

in  successive  years.  Of  the  first  of  these  we  wrote  a  record  for  the 
press  under  the  title  of  "  A  Dinner  Party  under  the  Snow-Arch  of 
Mount  Wasliington."     It  runs  thus  : — 

"  For  several  seasons  I  have  wished  to  visit  '  Tuckerman's  Ravine.' 
The  bare,  thin,  and  curling  edge  of  its  southwestern  wall,  as  seen 
from  the  Glen  House,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  shows  of  that 
fascinating  spot.  The  rock-ribbed  organization  of  the  hills  is  grandly 
revealed  by  it ;  while  the  spirit  of  mountain  strength,  the  enormous 
vitality  that  is  compressed  into  the  resisting  power  of  a  great  ridge, 
is  suggested  there  more  intensely,  perhaps,  than  in  any  other  moun- 
tain hne  or  feature  of  this  region.  The  ravine  is  hollowed  out  of  a 
spur  of  Washington,  and  the  curving  wall  I  speak  of  seems  to  be  the 
bent  and  firmly  braced  arm  of  the  mountain,  defying  the  force  of 
gravity  and  the  gnawing  frosts,  with  the  challenge,  '  Do  your  best, 
with  all  your  tugs  and  beaks,  against  my  granite  muscles  and  persist- 
ent will ! '  One  is  continually  tempted  from  a  distance  to  explore  a 
nook  that  wears  the  expression  of  such  character. 

"  Moreover,  there  is  a  very  striking  picture  in  '  Oakes'  White 
Mountain  Scenery,'  of  the  summit  of  Washington  rising  over  Tucker- 
man's Ravine.  It  is  the  grandest  sketch  of  the  whole  series,  and  I 
have  often  wished  to  verify  it.  Possibly,  the  publishers,  Messrs. 
Crosby,  Nichols  &  Co.  will  not  seriously  object  to  the  liberty  I  shall 
take  here,  of  giving  gratis  an  attestation  of  the  accuracy  of  that  view, 
and  a  commendation  of  the  work  itself.  Then  again,  the  accomits 
last  summer  of  a  snow-arch  in  the  ravine  remaining  so  late  as  August, 
made  me  regret  my  inability  to  explore  it,  and  resolve  to  climb  into 
it,  another  year. 

"  At  last,  I  have  been  able  to  do  so  under  most  favorable  circum- 
stances. Mr.  Thompson,  of  the  Glen  House,  has  opened  a  horse- 
path from  a  point  on  the  new  Mount  Washington  carriage-road,  to  a 
lake  at  the  foot  of  the  ravine.  A  small  party  of  gentlemen  was 
invited  by  one  of  the  prominent  officers  of  the  carriage-road  company 
to  try  this  path  on  foot,  and  dine  with  him  at  the  snow-bank  in  the 
rocky  gulf,  if  it  stUl  lingered  in  the  lap  of  July.     A  more  competent 


344  THE  whitp:  hills. 

or  inspiring  leader  of  such  an  excursion  than  Mr.  M.  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  find.  He  is  the  soul  of  the  enterprise  that  is  engineering 
a  wagon  turnpike  up  Mount  Washington.  With  unfiickering  enthu- 
siasm and  unfaltering  energy,  he  is  writing  his  name  in  wide,  smooth, 
zigzag  hues,  from  the  base  to  the  cone  of  old  Agiochook,  as  Napoleon 
engraved  his  upon  the  Simplon.  The  work,  it  is  thought,  will  be 
finished  in  the  course  of  another  summer. 

"  Our  party  started  from  the  Glen  House  about  nine  o'clock,  in 
high  spirits,  notwithstanding  the  heavy  fog  that  hung  over  the  moun- 
tain and  filled  the  ravine.  We  had  an  excellent  opportunity  to  see 
how  the  carriage-road  is  made,  and  what  a  work  it  is  to  finish  it  up 
from  the  roughness  of  the  primeval  wilderness  to  the  wide  macadam- 
ized track,  over  which  we  first  drove  a  double  wagon  for  two  miles. 
Leaving  the  carriage,  we  led  a  pony  over  a  great  ledge  which  the 
workmen  were  blasting,  feeling  none  the  easier  for  knowing  that  the 
fuse  was  burning  wliile  we  crossed.  In  less  than  a  minute  after,  old 
Washington  and  Carter  were  shouting  to  each  other  in  mockery  of 
the  discharge.  We  had  the  privilege,  also,  of  seeing  how  neatly  and 
comfortably  Yankee  workmen  contrive  to  live  in  rough  log-houses  two 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  Coos  County,  Then  we  struck  off 
from  the  carriage-way  to  try  Thompson's  new  path  on  foot.  0 
the  joy  of  a  tramp  through  the  aboriginal  forest  in  such  sweet  air  ! 
The  smell  of  the  fresh  earth,  the  perfume  of  the  plants  and  bark,  the 
spring  of  the  moss  under  the  feet,  the  sense  of  elasticity  and  freedom 
diffused  through  the  whole  frame,  the  note  of  the  wood-robin,  the 
pipe  and  trill  of  the  sweet-whistler,  the  luscious  gurgle  of  hidden  rills, 
the  flash  and  music  of  merry  cascades,  and,  when  the  fog  is  swept 
away,  the  spots  of  sunshine  flecking  the  path,  the  bewitching  confu- 
sion of  light  and  shadows  on  the  trunks  and  boughs  and  among  the 
leaves,  as  the  bracing  breeze  makes  them  dance  and  sing,  and  added 
to  all,  the  consciousness  of  nearness  to  the  proudest  summits  of  New 
England,  and  the  hope  of  catching  soon  their  glorious  crowns  looking 
down  over  savage  cliffs  and  across  grim  gulfs  of  rock, — what  pleasure 


THE    ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  345 

of  the  senses  is  so  pure  ?  what  medicine  so  kindly  as  the  subtile  elixir 
with  which  Nature  thus,  taking  us  to  her  bosom  again,  delicately 
searches  every  fibre  of  the  jaded  frame,  striii^s  and  reanimates  the 
nerves,  and  pervades  the  whole  being  with  an  airy  joy  in  mere 
physical  existence  ? 

"  Our  whole  party  were  truly  in  mountain  spirits.  One  of  the 
young  engineers  with  us  had  walked  from  the  top  of  Washington  that 
morning, — starting  from  an  aerial  island  where  the  sun  was  rising 
over  a  sea  of  mist,  v.^hich  the  wind  was  rolling  and  swaying  in  mighty 
surges  and  troughs  of  vapor,  mimicking  in  the  fleecy  fog  the  tremen- 
dous ground-swell  and  turmoil  of  the  sea.  The  contractor  of  the 
road  was  with  us,  taking  the  excursion  as  pastime,  for  the  pleasure 
of  conquering  the  ruggedness  of  the  mountain  by  his  iron  muscles,  in 
addition  to  the  satisfaction  of  slowly  planing  off  the  rocky  knots  of  its 
hide  by  his  workmen.  A  prominent  Boston  gentleman  graced  our 
company  with  his  enthusiasm  for  science, — one  of  the  modern  regi- 
ment of  Solomons,  knowing  every  shrub  and  weed,  from  the  cedar  to 
the  hyssop  that  springeth  by  the  wall ;  a  man  who  would  count  it  all 
joy  to  sleep  in  a  ravine,  and  have  his  aristocratic  frame  battered  and 
torn  by  rocks  and  trees,  and  his  blood  half  sucked  away  by  black 
flies,  if  he  could  find  a  wild  flower  that  had  never  yet  been  christened 
with  savage  Greek  or  Latin  at  the  altar  of  science.  But  our  leader, 
Mr.  M.,  seemed  most  thoroughly  possessed  with  the  poetry  of  the 
excursion.  He  climbed  the  steep  wood-paths,  declaiming  in  glorious 
style  the  most  stirring  mountain  verses  from  Scott's  '  Bokeby.'  A 
cataract  waked  up  his  early  reading  of  '  Manfred,'  and  brought  down 
an  avalanche  of  its  splendid  rhythm  upon  our  astonished  and  dehghted 
ears.  The  sudden  sight  of  the  dome  of  Mount  Washington,  over  the 
edge  of  the  ravine,  called  out,  as  a  jubilant  apotheosis, — 

Mont  BUinc  is  tlie  monarch  of  mountains ; 

TL'.ey  crown'd  him  long  ago 
On  a  throne  of  rocks,  in  a  robe  of  clouds, 

Wft-b  -i  diftdfm  of  snow. 

Around  his  waist  are  forests  braced; 
The  rtvalanche  in  his  hand; 


3i6  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

But  ere  it  fall,  that  thundering  ball 
Must  wait  for  my  command. 

"  Poetry  poured  down  from  the  distances  of  his  boyhood  read- 
ing Uke  the  singing  rills  around  us  from  the  mountain  top.  You 
remember,  friend  Transcript,  that  a  judge  in  Georgia  recently,  when 
there  was  no  Bible  in  the  court,  said,  '  Swear  the  witness  on  Father 
Shehane's  head,  for  he's  a  walking  edition  of  Scripture.'  So  our 
friend  Mr.  M.  is  a  portly  Cyclopeedia  of  the  choicest  mountain  poetry, 
— a  volume  that  articulates  its  treasures  with  sonorous  voice  and 
manly  emphasis. 

"  Thus  we  made  the  time  fly  in  crossing  the  two  and  a  half  miles 
of  forest  that  lie  between  the  carriage-road  and  '  Hermit  Lake.'  This 
little  sheet  of  water,  so  snugly  embowered  in  the  wilderness,  would 
attract  more  attention  were  it  not  for  the  frowning  wall  of  the  ravine 
that  looms  over  it,  and  draws  the  eye  upward.  It  lies  under  the 
southeast  ridge.  Emerging  from  the  woods  now,  we  see  that  the 
ravine  is  of  horse-shoe  shape, — the  opposite  outer  chif  more  than  a 
thousand  feet  in  height,  the  bottom  sloping  upwards  towards  the  back- 
ward crescent  wall,  and  the  rim  quite  level.  We  climbed  along  the 
centre  of  the  gulf,  by  the  bed  of  a  stream,  pausing  every  minute  to 
gaze  at  the  grim  ramparts  on  either  hand,  and  to  invent  some  new  ex- 
clamation of  amazement  and  awe.  A  path  has  been  hewn  out  since 
among  the  scrubby  bushes,  so  that  explorers  need  not  go  over  boots 
in  water,  as  we  did  sometimes.  Facing  us,  as  we  climbed,  was  the 
grand  curve  of  the  precipice,  symmetrical  seemingly  as  that  of  the 
Colosseum.  It  so  fascinated  me  and  made  me  eager  to  get  nearer, 
that  L  utterly  forgot  the  snow-arch.  The  face  of  the  wall  was  wet 
with  weak  streams,  that  flash  brilliantly  in  the  sun.  It  bears  the  title, 
we  believe,  of  'The  Fall  of  a 'thousand  Streams.'  If  Mr.  M.  had 
been  as  well  acquainted  with  Wordsworth  as  with  Byron  and  Scott, 
he  would  surely  have  quoted  here  the  strangely  applicable  passage 
from  'The  Excursion,' — 

for  now  we  stooc' 
Shut  out  from  prospect  of  the  open  vale. 
And  saw  the  water,  that  composed  this  rill, 


THE    ASCENT   OF  MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  3^7 

Descending,  disembodied,  find  diffused 
O'er  the  smooth  surface  of  an  ample  crag, 
Lofty  and  steep,  and  naked  as  a  tower. 
All  further  progress  here  was  barred; 

high  or  low  appeared  no  trace 

Of  motion,  save  the  water  that  descended. 
Diffused  adown  that  barrier  of  steep  rock. 
And  softly  creeping,  like  a  breath  of  nir, 
Such  as  is  sometimes  seen,  and  hardly  seen. 
To  brush  the  still  breast  of  a  crystal  lake. 

'  Behold  a  cabinet  for  sages  built. 
Which  kings  might  envy!' — Praise  to  this  effect 
Broke  from  the  happy  old  man's  reverend  lip; 
Who  to  the  Solitary  turned,  and  said, 
'  In  sooth,  with  love's  familiar  privilege, 
You  have  decried  the  wealth  which  is  your  own. 
Among  these  rocks  and  stones,  methinks,  I  see 
More  than  the  heedless  impress  that  belongs 
To  lonely  Nature's  casual  work:  they  bear 
A  semblance  strange  of  power  intelligent. 
And  of  design  not  wholly  thrown  away. 
Boldest  of  plants  that  ever  faced  the  wind, 
How  gracefully  that  slender  shrub  looks  forth 
From  its  fantastic  birthplace !     And  I  own, 
Some  shadowy  intimations  haunt  me  here, 
^rhat  in  these  shows  a  chronicle  survives 
Of  purposes  akin  to  those  of  man, 
But  wrought  with  mightier  arm  than  now  prevaik. 
— Voiceless  the  stream  descends  into  the  gulf 
With  timid  lapse; — and  lo!  while  in  this  strait 
I  stand — the  chasm  of  sky  above  my  head 
Is  heaven's  profoundest  azure;  no  domain 
For  fickle,  short-lived  clouds  to  occupy. 
Or  to  pass  through ;.  but  rather  an  abyss 
In  which  the  everlasting  stars  abide ; 
And  whose  soft  gloom,  and  boundless  depth,  might  temT»t 
The  curious  eye  to  look  for  them  by  day. 
— Hail  Contemplation!  from  the  stately  towers,  ' 

Reared  by  the  industrious  hand  of  human  art 
To  lift  thee  high  above  the  misty  air 
And  turbulence  of  murmuring  cities  vast; 
From  academic  groves,  that  have  for  tliee 
-  Been  planted,  hither  come  and  find  a  lodge 
To  which  thou  mayst  resort  for  holier  peace, — 
From  whose  calm  centre  thou,  through  height  or  depth, 
Mayst  penetrate,  wherever  tnith  shall  lead; 
Measuring  through  all  degrees,  until  the  scale 
Of  time  and  conscious  nature  disappear, 
Lost  in  unsearchable  eternity!' 


248  THE   AVHTTE   HILLS. 

^  As  we  were  approaching  the  base  of  this  wall,  I  heard  an  exclamatiou 
that  there  was  snow,  and  looking  up,  saw,  a  little  way  above  and 
ahead,  a  patch  of  dirty  white,  which  seemed  to  be  about  ten  feet  long. 
I  turned  again  to  the  amphitheatre  and  continued  climbing.  Shortly 
the  snow  patch  caught  my  eye  again  ;  it  had  increased  vastly  in  size 
and  depth  ; — a  little  nearer,  and  it  seemed  to  open  ponderous  jaws  ; 
a  few  feet  more  of  climbing,  and  we  stood  at  the  mouth  of  an  arching 
snow-cave,  through  which  a  stream  was  flowing  lazily,  increased  by 
the  water  that  dropped  from  the  white  and  fretted  roof. 

"  How  can  I  hope  to  describe  to  you  the  rich  surprise  of  entering 
this  cold,  crystal  cabin,  fashioned  by  a  mountain  stream  out  of  the 
huge,  shapeless  quarry  that  is  deposited  and  hardened  there  by  the 
winter  storms  ?  The  snow  sweeps  into  the  ravine  to  the  depth,  no 
doubt,  of  a  hundred  feet  or  more  ;  and  this  bank  is  the  last  shred  of 
the  frost-mantle  which  the  sun  and  fogs  tear  from  the  surface  of  the 
White  Hills.  If  the  cascade  did  not  help  them  by  its  taste  for  archi- 
tectural sapping  and  groining,  they  would  be  unable  to  dislodge  the 
winter  wholly  from  that  gulf.  It  was  some  minutes  before  we  got 
courage  to  go  far  into  the  cave.  We  had  fears  for  the  stability  of 
the  roof.  But  when  we  found  that  it  was  so  hard  as  to  require  a 
hatchet  to  cut  it,  we  felt  reassured,  trusted  the  span  which  the  ice- 
gnome  had  heaved,  and  began  to  explore  the  cavern.  It  was  so  high 
that  a  tall  man  could  not  touch  the  ceihng  with  a  five-foot  staff.  So 
many  persons  had  laughed  at  Mr.  M.  for  his  accounts  of  the  snow- 
arch  and  its  size,  a  year  ago,  that  we  measured  it  with  a  line.  It 
was  294  fyet  long,  Q6  feet  broad,  and  about  15  feet  deep  where 
the  snow  was  heaviest.  The  cave  extended  the  whole  breadth,  and 
about  half  the  length  of  the  bank  ;  its  roof  being  on  an  average  about 
five  or  six  feet  thick,  and  very  sohd. 

"  But  the  most  charming  feature  of  the  interior  was  a  second  and 
smaller  arch,  at  right  angles  with  the  more  spacious  one,  just  about 
large  enough  for  a  man  to  pass  through,  at  which  a  more  diminutive 
stream  had  tried  its  skill.  It  was  of  exquisite  gothic  workmanship. 
The  rill  was  responsible  for  the  curve  of  the  roof  and  the  general  pro- 
portions, while  the  meltings  had  cauo-ht  the  spirit  of  the  work,  and 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  349 

laid  in  tlie  finish  of  groovings  and  chasings  by  way  of  dehcate  onia- 
ment.  Nature  had  put  her  rival  ministers  of  grandeur  and  grace  at 
work  in  the  two  streams  that  channelled  this  snow-heap  with  patient 
and  merry  chisels, — one  leaving,  as  the  witness  of  its  fidelity,  the 
sombre  and  masculine  proportions  of  the  cave,  the  other  flowing  under 
the  cheerful  feminine  beauty  of  the  ceiling  it  had  wrought.  Ah,  the 
romantic  economy,  too,  of  that  ceaseless  mining  and  sculpture  I 
Where  shall  we  find  the  rubbish  and  the  chips  ?  All  the  waste  turns 
to  leaping  and  fleecy  beauty,  far  below,  on  the  mossy  stairs  of  the 
Crystal  Cascade.  It  feeds  the  roots  of  wild  flowers  ;  it  bears  down 
nutriment  to  damty  and  scarlet-freckled  trout ';  it  carries  coolness  to 
human  lips  and  melody  to  careworn  hearts  ; — all  this  before  it  pours 
into  the  Ellis  stream,  and  plunges  over  the  Glen  Ellis  cataract,  and 
again  over  the  Jackson  falls,  on  its  way  to  the  Saco,  that  it  may  do 
wider  service  in  that  tide,  before  it  dies  into  the  sea. 

"  The  spot  furnished  an  entirely  new  experience  of  the  White 
Mountains.  I  had  not  expected  to  be  thrilled  with  such  surprise,  so 
near  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington,  which  I  had  visited  so  often. 
The  stupendous  amphitheatre  of  stone  would  of  itself  repay  and  over- 
pay the  labor  of  the  climb.  It  is  fitly  called  the  '  Mountain  Colos- 
seum.' No  other  word  expresses  it,  and  that  comes  spontaneously  to 
the  lips.  The  eye  needs  some  hours  of  gazing  and  comparative  meas- 
urement to  fit  itself  for  an  appreciation  of  its  scale  and  sublimity. 
One  can  hardly  believe,  while  standing  there,  that  the  sheer  concave 
sweep  of  the  back  wall  of  the  ravine  was  the  work  of  an  earthquake 
throe.  It  seems  as  though  Titanic  geometry  and  trowels  must  have 
come  in  to  perfect  a  primitive  volcanic  sketch.  One  might  easily 
fancy  it  the  Stonehenge  of  a  Preadamite  race, — the  unroofed  ruins 
of  a  temple  reared  by  ancient  Anaks  long  before  the  birth  of  man,  for 
which  the  dome  of  Mount  Washington  was  piled  as  the  western 
tower.  There  have  been  landslides  and  rock-avalanches  as  terrible 
n  that  ravine  as  at  Dixville  Notch, — the  teeth  of  the  frosts  have  been 
as  pitiless,  the  desloation  of  the  cliffs  is  as  complete,  but  the  spirit  of 
the  place  is  not  so  gloomy  as  at  Dixville, — is  sublime  rather  than 


350  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

awful  or  dispiritmg.  At  Dixville,  all  is  decay,  wreck ;  the  hopeless 
Bubmission  of  matter  iii  the  coil  of  its  hungry  foes.  In  Tuckerman's 
Ravine  there  is  a  grand  battle  of  granite  against  storm  and  frost,  a 
Roman  resistance,  as  though  it  could  hold  out  for  ages  yet  before 
the  siege  of  winter,  and  all  the  batteries  of  the  air. 

"  But  I  must  close.  Of  course  we  dined  under  the  snow-arch. 
Between  the  pie  and  cheese  there  were  eloquent  parentheses  of  admi- 
ration for  the  crystal  cave,  and  wonder  at  the  proportions  of  the 
Colosseum.  We  pledged  our  host,  Mr.  M.,  and  drank  to  the  success 
of  his  road.  Never  was  hospitality  acknowledged  in  a  more  glorious 
hall,  and  the  pledge  was  drunk  in  pure  ice-water  fresh  from  Feb- 
ruary There  is  no  time  to  tell  you  of  our  climbing  the  chffs  of  the 
ravine  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington.  Just  before  we  began 
to  ascend  by  the  sheer  and  treacherous-looking  wall,  Mr.  M.  gave  us 
a  noble  recitation  of  the  following  passage  from  Scott's  '  Rokeby,'  and 
one  of  our  party  came  near  verifying  the  experience  which  Bertram 
would  have  had  if  his  final  leap  had  not  proved  successful : — 

As  bursts  the  levin  in  its  wi-ath, 

He  shot  him  down  the  sounding  path; 

Rock,  wood,  and  stream  rung  wildly  out. 

To  his  loud  step  and  savage  shout. 

Seems  Jhat  the  object  of  his  race 

Hath  scaled  the  cliffs;  his  frantic  chaso 

Sidelong  he  turns,  and  now  'tis  bent 

Right  up  the  rock's  tall  battlement: 

Straining  each  sinew  to  ascend, 

Foot,  hand,  and  knee  their  aid  must  lend, 

Wilfrid,  all  dizzy  with  dismay, 

Views,  from  beneath,  liis  dreadful  wa\" : 

Now  to  the  oak's  warp'd  roots  he  clings. 

Now  trusts  his  weight  to  ivy  strings; 

Now,  like  tlie  wild  goat,  must  he  daie 

An  unsupported  leap  in  air; 

Hid  in  the  shrubby  rain-course  now, 

You  mark  him  by  the  crashing  bough, 

And  by  his  corselet's  sullen  clank, 

And  by  the  stones  spurned  from  the  bank, 

And  by  the  hawk  scared  from  her  nest, 

And  ravens  croaking  o'er  their  guost. 

Who  deem  his  forfeit  limbs  shall  7>ay 

The  tribute  of  his  bold  essav. 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  351 

See,  lie  emerges! — desperate  now 

All  further  course — Yon  beetling  brow 

In  craggy  nakedness  sublime 

What  heart  or  foot  shall  dare  to  climb  V 

It  bears  no  tendril  for  his  clasp, 

Presents  no  angle  to  his  grasp: 

Sole  stay  his  foot  may  rest  upon, 

Is  yon  earth-bedded  jetting  stone. 

Balanced  on  such  precarious  prop. 

He  strains  his  grasp  to  reach  the  top. 

Just  as  the  dangerous  stretch  he  makes, 

By  heaven,  his  faithless  footstool  shakes! 

Beneath  his  tottering  bulk  it  bends,  ' 

It  sways, — it  loosens, — it  descends! 

And  downward  holds  its  headlong  way, 

Crashing  o'er  rock  and  copse  wood  spray. 

Loud  thunders  shake  the  echoing  dell!— 

Fell  it  alone? — alone  it  fell. 

Just  on  the  very  verge  of  fate, 

The  hardy  Bertram's  falling  weight 

He  trusted  to  his  sinewy  hands. 

And  on  the  top  unharmed  he  stands! 


J  reached  the  Glen  House  before  nine,  and  Gorham  about  ten.  that 
(^vening,  with  a  strong  desire  to  repeat  the  visit,  and  with  the  convic- 
tion that  every  lover  of  impressive  scenery  will  find  Tuckerman's 
Ravine  a  spot  that  will  repay  trebly  the  toils  of  a  day's  excursion." 

Not  less  than  five  thousand  persons  make  the  ascent  of  Mount 
Washington,  every  summer,  by  the  regular  bridle-paths.  There  is 
year  by  year  now,  however,  an  increasing  proportion  of  visitors  who 
desire  more  loneliness  and  wildness  in  the  track,  and  more  adventure 
in  the  experience,  than  the  commonly  travelled  routes  to  the  summit 
will  supply.  For  all  such  the  northerly  side  of  the  ridge,  as  the 
noble  scenery  around  its  base  becomes  better  known,  will  prove  very 
attractive.  The  writer  first  became  acquainted  with  the  pictures 
which  the  northerly  portion  of  the  ridge  reveals,  in  an  excursion  over 
Mount  Adams,  whioh  was  thus  reported  in  the  Boston  Transcript : — 

"  If  any  of  your  readers  have  ever  driven  from  Gorham  to  Jeffer- 
son, on  what  is  called  the  '  Cherry  Mountain  road  to  the  Notch,'  thejf 


54^2  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

have  noticed  the  ravine  of  Mount  Adams,  which  is  cut  to  the  very 
heart,  and  up  to  the  throat  of  the  noble  mountain.  Seen  from  the 
road  below,  it  is  the  most  spacious  and  the  grandest  of  all  the  gorges 
that  have  been  cloven  out  of  the  White  Hills.  It  is  of  an  excursion 
up  the  tilted  floor  of  this  granite  gulf  that  I  sit  down  to  write  you 
now.  How  often,  in  riding  along  the  road  in  Randolph,  where  its 
lines  of  lifted  forest  subside  into  the  verdure  of  the  valley,  have  1 
looked  with  longing  up  to  its  sheer  and  sharp-edged  walls, — and  far- 
ther up  to  its  smooth-faced  ledges  blazing  like  mirrors  with  sunshine 
upon  their  moisture, — up  to  cascades  that  shook  feathery  silver  over 
dwindled  precipices, — up  to  the  curving  ramjjart  that  unites  the  two 
sides  of  the  chasm,  and  supports  the  mountain's  rocky  spire  !  There, 
I  have  said  to  myself,  the  very  spirit  of  the  hills  is  concentrated. 
There  the  wildness,  freshness,  and  majesty  which  '  carriage-roads ' 
and  hurrying  feet  and  '  Tip-Top  Houses  '  are  driving  or  disenchant- 
ing from  Mount  Washington,  are  as  undisturbed  as  when  the  Indians 
warned  the  daring  pioneers  of  civilization  from  ascending  Agiochook, 
on  peril  of  the  Great  Spirit's  Avrath. 

Mark  how  the  climbing  OreaJs 
Beckon  thee  to  their  arcades. 

"  Yet  the  ravine  was  generally  believed  to  be  unscalable.  No 
guide  or  hunter  could  tell  what  attractions  it  concealed,  or  the  proba- 
ble character  of  the  ground.  No  party,  so  far  as  we  could  learn, 
had  ever  been  through  it.  But  Mr.  Gordon,  who  is  as  much  at  home 
in  the  woods  as  a  bear,  and  who  gets  along  without  a  compass  in 
their  thickets,  by  having  the  instinct  of  a  bee,  was  ready  and  anxious 
to  take  charge  of  any  person  or  company  that  would  try  to  explore 
and  scale  it.  So  I  endeavored  to  muster  a  small  band  for  the 
attempt  under  his  lead,  knowing  that  we  should  all  be  safe  in  his 
charge  and  under  his  counsel.  He  is  acquainted  with  the  wilderness 
of  the  White  Mountains  as  David  knew  the  forests  of  Ziph,  or  Solo- 
mon the  botany  of  Palestine.  Last  year,  however,  I  was  not  suc- 
cessful in  my  efforts  to  collect  recruits.      But  this  month  I  found 


THE    ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON. 


363 


enough  to  justify  the  trial.  A  lawyer  of  Boston,  who  proved  himself 
a  thoroughly  furnished  wood-man,  a  clergyman,  an  artist,  and  your 
correspondent,  were  the  quartette  of  novices,  and  with  our  admirable 
guide  formed  a  harmonious,  and  as  it  turned  out,  a  competent  '  quin- 
tette club  '  for  the  excursion. 

"  Tuesday,  the  eleventh,  in  the  afternoon,  was  the  time  for  start- 
ing. It  had  rained  in  the  morning.  The  clouds  were  heavy  and 
dark  after  dinner,  and  blanketed  the  mountains.     But  the  wind  was 


favorable,  and,  according  to  Mr.  Gordon's  barometrical  instinct,  tht 
signs  were  auspicious  for  the  succeeding  day.  Some  friends  were 
kind  enough  to  escort  us  from  the  Alpine  House  to  the  base  of 
Adams,  two  miles  beyond  the  farther  side  of  Randolph  Hill,  where 
we  were  to  strike  into  the  forest.  Just  as  we  arrived  opposite  Madi- 
son, the  cloak  and  cap  of  mist  were  thrown  off,  and  the  symmetrical 
mountain  saluted  us  in  an  aristocratic  suit  of  blue-black  velvet.  And 
as  we  reached  the  point  where  we  were  to  leave  the  wagon,  the  fog 
lifted  from  the  ravine  also.     Both  its  sides,  its  upper  plateau,  and  its 


354  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

far-retreating  wall  looked  full  upon  us  in  shadow  so  gloomy,  as  if  the  old 
mountain  Avas  making  one  last  and  crowning  eiFort  to  frighten  us  from 
our  enterprise,  and  save  his  savage  chasm  from  desecration  by  human 
feet.  The  prospect  was  not  very  enticing,  especially  as  the  rain 
hegan  to  fall  again  when  the  horses  stopped.  But  we  put  faith  in 
the  northwest  wind  for  the  Aveather  of  the  morrow,  bade  good-bye  to 
our  friends  in  the  wagon,  and  at  four  o'clock  started  on  the  ascent, 
along  a  brook  that  flows  out  of  the  ravine,  and  is  one  of  the  feeders 
of  Moose  River,  which  swells  the  Androscoggin. 

"  We  had  supposed  that  this  brook  would  furnish  delight  enough 
to  reUeve  the  fatigue  of  the  first  part  of  the  ascent,  and  we  were  not 
disappointed. 

Gayest  pictures  rose  to  win  me, 
Leopard-colored  rills. 

What  can  be  more  charming  and  refreshing  than  the  exploration  of 
a  mountain  stream  ?  One  minute  your  feet  are  in  the  deep,  soft 
mosses — springy  ottomans  for  the  naiads — that  cushion  the  fallen 
trunks  along  the  banks.  Next,  you  are  pushing  through  the  luxu- 
riant growths  of  fern,  and  bush,  and  vine,  that  choke  the  way  be- 
tween the  bordering  birches  and  pines.  Soon  you  are  stopping  to 
gaze  at  the  rich  weather-stains  on  the  occasional  smooth  walls  of 
stone  ;  or  you  pause  before  some  scooped  basin,  a  rod  broad  and  five 
foet  deep,  in  which  the  crystal  water  is  stored  to  show  off  the  dolphin 
hues  of  stones  on  the  bottom,  that  have  been  polished  by  their  toil  of 
centuries  at  wearing  out  the  immense  granite  bowl.  And  then  the 
infinite  caprice,  and  sport,  and  joy  of  the  stream  itself  in  its  leaps  all 
along  the  pathway  from  its  far-up  cradle,  and  its  growth  from  a  baby 
rill  to  a  boyish  brook  !  Now  it  pours  in  a  thin  sheet  of  liquid  glass 
over  a  broad  and  even  rock.  Now  it  slides  in  a  tiny  cataract  along 
a  slanting  sluice-way.  Now  it  streams  in  scattered  fringes  of  pearly 
raggedness  down  a  slope  of  rock  that  is  striped  with  emerald  moss. 
Now  it  strands  all  its  silvery  threads  into  a  runnel,  and  pours  with 
concentrated  voice  through  the  groove  of  a  sharp-edged  shelf,  into  a 
still  pool  below. 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON. 


365 


"  But  what  folly  to  attempt  to  draw  in  words  the  curves  and  colors, 
the  coyness  and  the  hoyden  frolic,  the  flashes  and  the  moodiness,  the 
laughter  and  the  plaints  of  these  daughters  of  the  clouds !     What 


■:an  make  the  time  pass  quicker,  or  the  fatigue  of  climbing  seem  so 
slight,  as  the  Protean  beauty  and  ever-changing  music  of  a  mountain 
rill,  which  nature  keefis  sacred  to  poetry  before  it  mingles  with  the 


356  THE   WHITE   HH.LS. 

more  vulgar  water  of  the  valley,  to  begin  a  life  of  use  ?  Three  hours 
slipped  away  quickly,  while  we  were  mounting  the  stony  stairs  of  this 
unvisited  rivulet  that  drains  the  sides  of  the  ravine, — although  we 
had  stumbled,  and  tested  the  coldness  of  its  tide  in  other  ways  than 
by  drinking,  and,  for  a  great  portion  of  the  way,  carried  our  boots 
full  of  its  liquid  ice. 

"  It  was  just  sunset  when  we  reached  the  proper  point  to  pitch  our 
camp  for  the  night.  The  easterly  cliflf  of  the  gorge,  dimly  seen 
through  the  trees,  glowed  with  vivid  gold — the  promise  of  a  bright 
day  to  succeed — as  we  stretched  ourselves  under  the  slanted  birch- 
bark  canopy,  supported  on  four  poles,  that  was  to  guard  us  from 
dews  and  rains.  We  could  not  but  look  with  admiration  at  the  quiet 
and  business-like  air  and  movements  of  Mr.  Gordon,  as  he  went  to 
work  with  his  axe  upon  a  great  tree,  felled  it,  chopped  the  trunk  into 
two  huge  logs,  stretched  them  out  before  our  rude  tent,  and  kindled 
between  them  a  noble  fire.  It  was  my  first  experience  of  '  camping 
out.'     I  hope  it  will  not  be  the  last. 

"  It  was  pleasant  to  think,  as  we  were  drying  our  feet  at  that 
cheerful  blaze,  whose  heat  drove  the  mosquitos  also  from  our  wig- 
wam, that  it  was  the  first  time  a  fire  had  been  lighted — except,  pos- 
sibly, by  a  thunderbolt — under  those  solemn  precipices  ;  the  first  time 
that  the  hiss  and  crackle  of  the  logs  had  ever  chimed  in  there  with 
the  buzz  of  human  voices,  and  the  purr  of  the  busy  brook  ;  the  first 
time  that  the  gray  cliifs  had  ever  been  looked  up  to,  through  flicker 
and  smoke,  from  a  tent  at  twilight ;  or  that  sparks  had  been  scattered 
aloft  among  the  thick  leaves,  to  mock  for  a  moment  the  perennial 
sparkles  from  the  camp-fires  of  the  night.  We  were  at  liberty  to 
enjoy  the  sensations  of  pioneers  in  the  gorge,  searching  for  a  new 
path  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington. 

"  How  refreshing  was  the  kettle  of  tea  Avhich  was  steeped  and 
'  drawn '  for  us  by  that  beneficent  blaze  !  Was  it  because  it  was 
made  of  Avater  tapped  in  its  granite  service-pipe,  half-way  between 
the  clouds  and  the  lower  earth,  that  it  yielded  a  flavor  more  exquisite 
than  the  cream  of  the  Alpine  House  had  ever  imparted  before  ?    Some 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  357 

six  or  eight  dippei's  of  it  stimulated  the  memory  of  the  lawyer  of  our 
gi'oup  so  that  he  gave  us  the  most  reviving  stories,  until  we  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  sleep.  My  little  girl,  five  years  old,  was  sadly  dis- 
tur1)ed,  when  I  started,  by  the  fear  that  bears  would  devour  me. 
Indeed,  while  I  was  absent  she  became  so  anxious  that  a  benevolent 
lady  in  the  Alpine  House  comforted  her  with  the  assurance  that  '  all 
the  bears  in  the  Adams  Ravine  had  mittens  on  their  teeth.'  They 
must  also  have  had  velvet  on  their  paws,  and  cotton  in  their  throats  ; 
for  we  heard  no  motion  or  sound  of  any  wild  creature  through  the 
night-watch.  The  '  Great  Bear '  alone,  prowling  all  night  '  around 
the  fold  of  the  North  Star,'  looked  down  upon  our  slumber.  Twice  I 
awaked,  and  saw  the  tall  and  faithful  Gordon  moving  stealthily  to 
replenish  the  fire,  and  heard  the  tired  monotone  of  the  brook,  mur- 
muring at  its  perpetual  toil.  But  how  well  we  rested,  on  our  bed  of 
spruce  boughs,  in  the  '  Gordon  Hotel ; '  and  how  we  needed  all  the 
strength  which  the  night  could  inspire  for  the  next  day's  task  ;  and 
how  we  were  rexvarded  for  all  our  fatigue,  let  me  try  to  tell  you  in 
another  letter." 

"  Shall  we  continue  our  conversation  with  your  readers,  Mr.  Edi- 
tor, about  the  excursion  through  the  ravine  01  Adams  to  Mount 
Washington  ?  When  I  parted  from  you,  our  party  were  just  going 
to  sleep  on  our  spruce  couches,  under  our  birch  roof,  with  our  feet  to 
the  fire,  while  the  drowsy  serenade  of  the  brook  served  as  a  soporific 
to  counteract  the  stimulus  of  Gordon's  tea. 

"  After  early  ablutions  in  the  stream,  and  a  breakfast  which  a 
camp-appetite  made  sumptuous,  we  started  for  the  day's  toil.  Our 
.first  excitement  was  kindled  by  the  gorgecusness  of  the  morning  sun- 
light on  the  sheer  gray  rocks  of  the  curving  wall  of  the  ravine,  far 
up  under  the  pinnacle  of  the  mountain.  The  glowing  gold  which  the 
wet  mosses  intermixed  with  the  russet  and  purple  of  the  precipice, 
very  nearly  took  the  soul  of  our  artist  compaj^ion  out  of  his  body. 
(If  it  had  succeeded  in  severing  the  balloon  from  its  bodily  basket, 
Gorham  would  have  been  robbed  of  the  poet  for  whom  it  has  been 

48 


B58  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

long  waiting  ;  Boston  would  have  lost  a  man  of  genius  ;  and  the 
region  of  unembodied  and  ideal  beauty  would  have  gained  a  true  seer 
before  the  time.)  He  insisted  that,  after  such  an  '  effect,'  we  must 
of  necessity  go  on  a  descending  grade  of  scenery  the  rest  of  the  day. 

"  An  hour's  easy  climbing  took  us  to  a  point,  above  the  high  trees 
and  seemingly  about  midway  in  the  gorge,  from  Avhich  perhaps  the 
most  impressive  view  of  the  ravine  is  gained.  Looking  off  and  down, 
its  sides  sloped  sharply  to  the  very  road  in  the  village  of  Randolph. 
Looking  back  and  up,  its  wings,  fifteen  hundred  feet  over  our  heads,, 
and  in  places  nearly  perpendicular,  bent  and  joined  in  a  wall  of  bare, 
jagged,  and  threatening  ledge,  just  under  the  head  of  the  mountain, 
which  it  completely  shut  out  from  view.  We  were  in  the  region  of 
silence.  There  was  no  scream,  or  song,  or  chipper  of  any  bird, — no 
buzz  of  any  insect.  We  were  shielded  by  the  rightrhand  wall  from 
the  westerly  breeze  which  was  driving  the  scud  over  the  line  of  the 
mountain  peaks  ;  and  there  were  no  leaves  around  us  to  stir  and  rus- 
tle at  the  fanning  of  the  air.  The  brook  had  dwindled.  We  no 
longer  had  its  path  to  follow.  Now  and  then,  under  the  large  rocks, 
we  could  just  hear  a  slight  gurgle,  where  out  of  sight  it  was  giving 
in  baby  prattle  an  intimation  of  its  existence.  On  the  steep  cliffs,  we 
could  see,  here  and  there,  the  motionless  glass  of  a  cascade,  but  it 
gave  no  sound.  The  only  note  of  animal  life  we  heard,  all  day,  was 
the  sharp  chirrup  of  the  chipmunk,  not  long  after  we  left  the  camp. 
Our  talk  was,  no  doubt,  the  first  sound  of  human  voices  that  had  ever 
broken  that  solemn  stillness.  The  ravine  lacks  the  great  attraction 
of  a  '  snow-arch,'  and  does  not  show  so  symmetrical  a  wall  as  the 
majestic  Colosseum-curve,  out  of  which,  in  Tuckerman's  Ravine,  the 
'  thousand  streams '  seem  to  ooze.  But  it  is  grander  than  Tucker- 
man's in  its  cliffs  ;  and  far  more  impressive,  seen  midway,  for  what 
one  of  our  party  called  its  '  deep  doumity^^ — the  sweep  of  its  keen- 
edged  walls  from  the  very  shoulders  of  the  mountain  to  its  feet  by 
the  Randolph  road. 

"  From  the  point  I  have  thus  been  speaking  of,  just  above  the  line 
of  high  trees,  it  seemed  as  though  we  could  reach  the  summit  of  the 


THE    ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON. 


359 


ridge  to  two  hours.  But  here  we  found  the  greatest  difficulty  of  the 
whole  excursion.  The  slope  was  not  very  steep  ;  for  a  mile  or  more. 
the  bottom  of  the  ravine  was  rather  a  gradually  retreating  stairway  of 

enormous 
boulders ; 
and,  as  an 
Irishman 
remarked 
in  ascend- 
i  n  g   the 
cone  of 
Mount 
Washing- 
ton, '  the 
dumpers 
did   their 
work  very 
badly, 
huge  rocks  were  piled  in 
most  eccentric    confusion ; 
crevasses,     sometimes     twenty 
and  thirty  feet  deep  and  span- 
ned with  moss,  lay  in  wait  for 
the    feet  ;    thickets    of    scrub 
spruces  and  junipers  overgrew 
these  boulders,  and  made    the 
most  sinewy  opposition  to  our 
passage.     Every  muscle  of  our 
bodies  was  called  into  play  in 
fighting     these     dwarfed     and 
knotty  regiments  of  evergreens. 
A.  more  thorough  gymnasium  for  training  and  testing  the  working 
and  enduring  powers  of  the  system,  could  not  be  arranged  by  art. 
After  six  hours  of  steady  and  hard  climbing, — which,  added  to  the 

4S* 


360 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


three  of  the  afternoon  previous,  made  nine  hours  of  toil  in  scaling 
the  ridge, — we  gained  the  plateau  above  which  the  pinnacle  of  x\d- 
ams  soars.  The  last  part  of  our  path  out  lay  up  the  eastern  ■wall, 
just  where  it  joins  the  left-hand  cliffs  ;  and  here  we  had  the  excite- 
ment of  grand  rock  scenery  overhanging  and  threatening  us  as  we 
climbed ;  while  the  opposite  rampart,  covered  with  green,  and  chan 


nolled  by  streams  into  very  graceful  lines,  responded  to  the  blasted 
cliffs  like  Gerizim  to  Ebal, — the  hill  of  blessing  to  the  mount  of  curs- 
ing. One  could  not  turn  the  eye  from  side  to  side,  without  repeat- 
ing mentally  the  passage,  '  strength  and  beauty  are  in  his  sanctuary.' 
"  The  last  few  rods  of  the  passage  out  of  the  ravine  led  us  up  a  nar- 
row and  smooth  gateway,  quite  steep,  and  carpeted  with  grass.    We  sat 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  361 

some  time  in  it,  looking  at  the  rocky  desolation  and  horror  just  about 
us,  balanced  bj  the  lovely  lines  mto  which  the  verdure  of  the  western 
ramparts  was  broken, — not  knowing  what  a  splendid  view  was  in 
reserve  for  us  when  we  should  step  out  upon  the  ridge.  The  huge 
cone  of  Mount  Madison  rose  before  us,  steep,  symmetrical,  and  sharp, 
with  more  commanding  beauty  of  form  than  any  other  summit  of  the 
White  Hills  has  ever  shown  to  my  eye.  We  were  facing  the  south- 
east when  we  rose  out  of  the  ravine,  and  were  so  nearly  under  the 
crest  of  Adams  that  its  shape  was  hidden  from  us,  and  also  every 
other  summit  of  the  range.  So  that  there  was  nothing  to  compete 
with  the  proud  proportions  of  the  pinnacle  before  us. 

"  There  are  very  few  peaked  summits  in  the  region  of  the  White 
Hills.  It  is  even  said  by  accurate  observers,  that  among  the  Alps 
there  are  not  more  than  five  that  slope  steeply  on  all  sides  from  pointed 
tops.  The  sharpest  apex  is  generally  supported  on  one  side  by  a  long 
line  with  very  moderate  inclination.  This  is  the  case  with  the  spires 
of  Jefferson  and  Adams,  seen  from  the  upper  portion  of  the  bridle- 
road  on  Mount  Washington.  Nature  in  the  mountain-lines,  as  in  her 
other  departments,  loves  to  hide  her  strength,  refrains  from  startling 
emphasis,  and  veils  the  intensity  of  her  forces  from  the  senses  by 
breadth  and  mass  in  the  products,  which  appeal  to  thought  and  imagi- 
native insight  for  recognition.  The  sharp  drawing  of  mountains  with 
very  narrow  bases,  which  we  often  see  in  pictures,  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  artist  is  incompetent  to  suggest  great  height  by  the  moderate 
lines  that  inclose  vast  bulk,  and  it  is  weak  as  caricature  is  feeble 
in  contrast  with  portraiture,  or  as  declamation  is  Aveak  compared  with 
the  eloquence  of  original  and  practical  speech.  But  the  cone  of 
Madison,  seen  from  the  gateway  of  the  ravine,  is  not  only  steep, 
regular,  and  pointed,  but,  all  other  mountains  being  shut  out,  it  looks 
immensely  massive.  The  whole  movmtain  has  seldom  looked  so  high 
from  below  as  this  bare  fraction  of  it  did,  which  we  were  gazing  at 
from  an  elevation  of  four  thousand  feet  on  its  sides.  And  its  color 
was  even  more  fascinating  than  its  form.  It  puzzled  us  to  under- 
stand how  the  rounding  lines  of  the  summit,  as  seen  from  the  road  in 


S62 


THE   WHITE    mLLS. 


Randolph,  could  have  been  conjured  into  the  lance-like  sharpnesa 
here  revealed  to  us.  And  how  the  Hght  graj  which  it  wears  to  a 
beholder  in  Jeflferson,  or  the  leathery  brown  it  presents  from  the 
Glen,  or  the  gray  green  which  is  its  real  tint  -s^hen  we  go  close  to  its 
rocks,  could  have  transformed  itself  into  the  leaden  lava  hue  in  which 
it  rose  before  us,  was  a  stranger  mystery.  I  feel  sure  that  it  was 
some  trick  of  the  light,  like  many  of  the  sunset  tints,  and  not  the 


color  which  the  cone  steadily  presents.  The  effect  was  the  more 
grand  because  it  seemed  as  though  nothing  but  batteries  could  have 
produced  it.  The  peak  looked  like  some  proud  fortification  that  had 
been  stormed  at  mih  leaden  shot  by  a  park  of  artillery  for  years. 
Our  artist  was  grieved  that  we  had  not  more  time  to  allow  him  in 
sketching  the  view. 

"  We  all  looked  with  longing  eyes  to  the  summit,  which  seemed  to 
Invite  us  to  scale  it ;  but  the  sun  was  already  past  noon,  and  we  must 
reach  the  house  on  Mount  Washington  by  dark.     So  Ave  resolved  to 


THE    ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  363 

make  the  ascent  of  Mount  Adams,  whose  topmost  rocks  were  still 
nearly  a  mile  oiF  from  us.  Between  the  spires  of  Adams  and  Madi- 
son on  the  ridge  there  is  a  pond  of  icy  water,  refreshing  enough  to 
weary  climbers,  and  from  this  point  another  view  peculiarly  striking, 
and  in  itself  worth  the  whole  toil  of  the  expedition,  is  gained.  We 
are  almost  overhung  by  the  lawless  rocks  of  a  subordinate  peak  of 
Mount  Adams,  which  we  called  John  Quincy  Adams,  and  back  of 
that  was  the  profile  line  of  the  higher  crest,  bulging  off  and  sweeping 
down  into  a  ravine  deep  below  the  general  level  of  the  ridge.  The 
rocks  were  very  jagged,  and  at  f^rst  sight  nothing  could  seem  more 
harsh  and  chaotic.  Yet  the  view  was  strangely  fascinating.  I  could 
not  understand  why  the  impression  of  beauty,  even  of  unusual  soft- 
ness and  melody,  should  be  made  by  such  ragged  desolation.  And 
if  I  had  never  read  the  seventeenth  chapter  of  Mr.  Ruskin's  fourth 
volume  of  Modern  Painters,  I  might  have  been  ignorant  of  the  secret. 
We  are  told  there  that  a  line  drawn  over  a  great  iVlpine  ridge,  so  as 
to  touch  the  principal  peaks  that  jut  from  it,  will  usually  be  found  to 
be  part  of  an  unreturning  or  immortal  curve.  The  grandeur  of  the 
Alpine  pinnacles  is  bounded  by  that  law  of  symmetry.  And  I  soon 
saw  that  the  precipices  of  Mount  Adams  were  in  subjection  to  the 
same  line  of  grace.  The  jutting  rocks  and  the  seemingly  lawless 
notchings,  like  the  scalloping  of  a  lovely  leaf,  hinted  the  sweep  of  an 
infinite  curve.  I  had  often  found  great  pleasure  in  detecting  the 
recurrence  of  a  few  favorite  angles  and  forms  in  the  chain-like  lines 
of  hills  within  ten  miles  of  Mount  Washington  ;  but  the  revelation  of 
this  curve  by  the  sharp  edges  of  the  clifi"  of  Adams  was  not  the  sim- 
ple perception  of  a  pleasant  fact,  but  the  opening  of  my  eyes  to  a 
new  page  in  the  meaning  of  Nature.  As  soon  as  I  returned,  I  sought 
the  volume  I  have  mentioned,  and  I  cannot  refrain  from  quoting  in 
this  letter  the  passage  on  the  189th  page,  that  now  lies  open  be- 
fore me,  and  which  I  have  read  with  new  interest. 

" '  A  rose  is  rounded  by  its  own  soft  ways  of  growth,  a  reed  ia 
bowed  into  tender  curvature  by  the  pressure  of  the  breeze  ;  but  we 
rould  not  from  these  have  proved  any  resolved  preference,  by  Na- 


364  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

fcure,  of  curved  lines  to  others,  inasmuch  as  it  might  always  have 
been  answered  that  the  curves  were  produced,  not  for  beauty's  sake, 
but  infallibly  by  the*  laws  of  vegetable  existence  ;  and  looking  at 
broken  flints  or  ruiiiiied  banks  afterwards,  we  mi";ht  have  thought  that 
we  only  liked  the  curved  lines  because  associated  with  life  and  organ- 
ism, and  disliked  the  angular  ones  because  associated  with  inaction 
and  disorder.  But  Nature  gives  us  in  these  mountains  a  more  clear 
demonstration  of  her  will.  She  is  here  driven  to  make  fracture  the 
law  of  being.  She  cannot  tuft  the  rock-edges  with  moss,  or  round 
them  by  water,  or  hide  them  with  leaves  and  roots.  She  is  bound  to 
produce  a  form,  admirable  to  human  beings,  by  continual  breaking 
away  of  substance.  And  behold,  so  soon  as  she  is  compelled  to  do 
this,  she  changes  the  laws  of  fracture  itself.  "  Growth,"  she  seems  to 
say,  "  is  not  essential  to  my  work,  nor  concealment,  nor  softness  ;  but 
curvature  is  :  and  if  I  must  produce  my  forms  by  breaking  them,  the 
fracture  itself  shall  be  in  curves.  If,  instead  of  dew  and  sunshine, 
the  only  instruments  I  am  to  use  are  the  lightning  and  the  frost,  then 
their  forked  tongues  and  crystal  wedges  shall  still  work  out  my  laws 
of  tender  line.  Devastation  instead  of  nurture  may  be  the  task  of 
all  my  elements,  and  age  after  age  may  only  prolong  the  unrenovated 
ruin  ;  but  the  appointments  of  typical  beauty  wliich  have  been  made 
over  all  creatures  shall  not  therefore  be  abandoned ;  and  the  rocks 
shall  be  ruled,  in  their  perpetual  perishing,  by  the  same  ordinances 
that  direct  the  bending  of  the  reed  and  the  blush  of  the  rose."  ' 
^  "  From  the  top  of  this  pyramid  of  Adams,  whose  rocks  are  so  huge 
and  lawless  that  it  would  be  scarcely  possible  to  make  a  horse-path 
to  it  from  the  plateau,  we  gained  glorious  views  of  the  northern  coun- 
try,— the  beautiful  Kilkenny  range,  the  lovely  farms  and  uplands  of 
Randolph  and  Jeffei'son,  the  long  unrolled  purple  of  the  Androscog- 
gin, making  a  right  angle  at  the  Lary  Farm,  the  Pond  of  Safety,  on 
the  northerly  side  of  the  Pilot  Hills,  and  Umbagog,  Richardson's 
Lake,  and  Moosetockmaguntic,  whose  dreamy  waters,  framed  by  the 
unbroken  wilderness,  are  stocked  with  portly  trout,  and  haunted  bj 
Nlroves  of  moose. 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON. 


365 


"  The  long  tramp  which  follows  next,  around  the  bending  ridge 
between  Jefferson  and  Adams,  is  rewarded  by  the  glorious  picture  of 
Washington,  superior  to  any  other  which  the  range  affords.  The 
long  easterly  slope  is  shown  from  its  base  in  the  Pinkham  forests ; 


the  cone  towers  sheer  out  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  every  rod  of 
the  bridle-path  is  visible,  from  the  Ledge  to  the  Summit  House. 
From  the  peak  of  Adams  one  can  see  as  much  as  from  the  top  of 
Washington,  except  the  small  segment  of  the  circle  which  the  dome 

49 


3(36  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

of  Washington  itself  conceals.  But  tliis  loss  is  far  more  than  made 
up  by  having  Mount  Washington  thus  in  the  picture.  Gaining  the 
crest  of  the  stout  and  square-shouldered  Jefferson,  our  route  ran  next 
over  the  dromedary  humps  of  Mount  Clay,  and  up  the  long  and 
tedious  slope  of  Mount  Washington  to  the  Tip-Top  House.  We 
reached  it  at  seven  o'clock,  pretty  thoroughly  tired,  but  not  so  ex- 
hausted that  we  could  not  enjoy  the  marvellous  water-views  which 
the  setting  sun  kindled  for  us  on  the  southeast, — Lovell's  Pond,  Se- 
bago  Lake,  Ossipee,  Winnipiseogee,  and  beyond  them  the  silver  sea 
plainly  (iut  by  the  line  of  the  Maine  shore, — the  first  time  1  had  ever 
clearly  seen  it  from  the  summit.  It  was  something  to  be  truly  grate- 
ful that  we  had  been  able  to  fulfil  our  plan  in  the  excursion  without 
a,n  accident,  and  without  delay  from  unpleasant  weather.  The  day 
had  been  perfect.  The  mists  of  the  morning  had  lifted  from  the 
peaks  when  we  gained  the  ridge,  and  there  had  been  clouds  enough 
to  shed  sufficient  shadows  to  give  variety  of  expression  to  the  splen- 
did scenes  with  which  we  had  made  acquaintance. 

"  As  to  our  satisfaction  with  the  excursion,  costing  as  it  did  no 
little  toil,  let  me  say  that  there  is  no  approach  to  Mount  Washington, 
and  no  series  of  mountain  views,  comparable  with  this  ascent  and  its 
surroundings  on  the  northerly  side.  Your  path  lies  among  and  over 
the  largest  summits  of  the  range.  Between  Madison  and  Adams  you 
have  the  noblest  outlines  of  rocky  crest  which  the  whole  region  can 
furnish.  Mount  Jefferson  glories  in  the  afternoon  light  with  the  most 
fascinating  contrast  of  purple  and  orange  hues.  Mount  Washington 
shows  himself  in  impressive  and  satisfactory  supremacy.  You  wind 
around  the  edges  of  every  ravine  that  gapes  around  the  highest  sum- 
mits. You  see  the  long  and  narrow  gully  between  Madison  and 
Adams ;  the  tremendous  hollow  of  Adams  itself  which  we  climbed  ; 
the  precipitous  gulf  between  Jefferson  and  Adams  on  the  southeast ; 
the  deep  cut  gorge  in  Jefferson  on  the  northwest,  whose  westerly 
bones  of  gray  cliffs,  (see  sketch  in  the  next  chapter,)  breaking  bare 
through  the  steep  verdure,  are  perhaps  the  most  picturesque  of  all  the 
rock- views  we  beheld  ;  the  chasm  between  Jefferson  and  Clay,  divided 


THE   ASCENT   OF  MOUNT   WASHINGTON.  367 

from  the  savage  Gulf  of  Mexico  by  a  spur  of  Jefferson  that  runs  out 
towards  the  Glen  House  ;  and  the  long  rolling  braces  that  prop 
Mount  Pleasant,  and  Frankhn,  and  the  tawny  Munroe, — the  bounda- 
ries of  the  ravines  that  you  look  into  in  riding  to  Mount  Washington 
over  the  Crawford  path. 

"  The  only  trouble  with  the  route  is,  that  there  is  too  much  to  see 
in  one  day.  It  would  be  better  to  camp,  if  possible,  near  the  summit 
of  Mount  Adams,  and  thus  spread  the  delight  more  equally  and  pro- 
fitably over  two  days,  and  have  a  sunset  and  sunrise  also  from  the 
ridge  to  remember.  This  last  was  denied  to  us.  We  slept  soundly 
in  the  Summit  House,  and  waked  the  next  morning  to  find  ourselves 
wrapped  in  cloud  and  rain.  But  in  spite  of  our  tramp  the  day  be- 
fore, we  walked  from  the  top  to  the  Alpine  House  in  Gorham,  through 
showers  and  mud,  a  distance  of  fifteen  miles,  in  less  than  five  hours. 

"  P.  S. — Since  the  excursion  thus  hastily  described,  I  have  been 
twice  over  the  best  portion  of  our  route.  Once  a  small  party  of  us 
climbed  the  northerly  slope  of  Mount  Madison  through  the  '  Gordon 
j)ath,'  which  our  excellent  guide  '  blazed  '  for  us  with  a  hatchet. 
Four  houi-s'  climbing  carried  us  to  the  summit.  We  went  nearly 
over  to  Mount  Jefferson,  and  returned  to  Gorham  by  the  same  track, 
down  Mount  Madison, — making  the  Avhole  journey  in  fourteen  hours 
from  the  Alpine  House.  The  second  time,  we  rode  to  the  Glen  ; 
took  horses  to  the  base  of  the  cone  of  Mount  Washington  ;  went 
around,  in  the  upper  portion  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  to  Mount  Clay  ; 
thence  to  Jefferson,  where  we  dined ;  thence  around  the  edge  of  the 
Adams  ravine  ;  up  the  cone  of  Madison,  and  down  the  Gordon  path 
to  the  foot  of  Randolph  Hill.  This  excursion  required  fifteen  hours 
from  the  Alpine  House.  To  all  lovers  of  the  most  exciting  and  noble 
scenery  which  the  White  Mountains  furnish,  I  commend  this  northeily 
route  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington,  with  Mr.  Gordon — who 
may  always  be  found  by  inquiry  at  the  Alpine  House — for  guide." 

Thus  ends  the  original  account  of  our  expeditions  through  the  im- 
broken  forests  to  the  northerly  portion  of  the  White  Mountain  ridge. 

49* 


368  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

We  have  repeated  the  excursion  many  times  since  the  letters  were 
written, — preferring  now  to  take  the  path  up  Mount  Madison  from 
the  foot  of  Randolph  Hill, — and  always  with  increased  interest  in  the 
scenery,  and  firmer  conviction  that  the  toil  is  better  repaid  tiian  by 
any  other  tramp  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mount  Washington.  And 
here  we  must  close  our  description  of  the  scenery  and  emotions 
gained  by  climbing  so  far  above  the  level  of  New  England.  The 
best  way  for  travellers,  who  wish  by  the  bridle-paths  to  see  the  most 
of  the  range  to  which  a  day  can  introduce  them,  is  to  ascend  from 
the  Crawford  House,  and  go  down  facing  the  noble  towers  of  Jeffer- 
son, Adams,  and  Madison,  on  the  Glen  path.  If  one  is  going  up 
and  down  the  same  path,  the  Glen  road,  we  think,  is  preferable.  If 
one  is  to  cross  the  ridge,  the  scenery  will  be  far  more  impressive  to 
ascend  from  the  Notch,  and  descend  to  the  Glen,  than  to  reverse 
the  process.  But  we  will  go  counter  to  our  own  advice,  and  de- 
scend to  the  plains  from  the  summit  of  New  Hampshire  by  the 
Crawford  path,  for  the  sake  of  this  passage  by  Rev.  Henry  Ward 
Beecher,  that  might  otherwise  be  lost  to  us, 

"  The  descent  from  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  towards  the 
Gibbs  House,  had  in  it  one  half  hour  of  extreme  pleasure,  and  two 
hours  of  common  pleasure.  After  leaving  the  summit  hill  I  shot 
ahead  of  the  fifteen  or  twenty  in  the  party,  and  rode  alone  along  the 
ridge  that  separates  the  eastern  and  western  valleys.  Beginning  at 
your  very  feet  as  little  crevices  or  petty  gorges,  the  valleys  widened, 
and  deepened,  and  stretched  forth,  until  on  either  side  they  grew  dim 
in  the  distance,  and  the  eye  disputed  with  itself  whether  it  was  lake 
or  cloud  that  spotted  the  horizon  with  silver.  The  valleys  articulate 
with  this  ridge  as  ribs  with  a  backbone.  As  I  rode  along  this  jag- 
ged and  broken  path,  except  of  my  horse's  feet,  there  was  not  a  sin- 
gle sound.  There  was  no  wind.  There  was  nothing  for  it  to  sing 
through  if  there  had  been  ever  so  much.  There  were  no  birds. 
There  were  no  chirping  insects.  I  saw  no  insects  except  spiders, 
which  here,  as  everywhere,  seemed  well  fed,  and  carried  plump  bel- 
lies.    There  was  perfect  peace,  perfect  stillness,  universal  brightness, 


THE   ASCENT   OF   MOUNT   WASHINGTON  369 

the  fulness  of  vision,  and  a  wondrous  glory  in  the  heaven,  and  over 
all  the  earth.  The  earth  was  to  me  as  if  it  were  unpeopled.  I  saw 
neither  towns  nor  cities,  neither  houses  nor  villages,  neither  smoke, 
nor  motion,  nor  sign  of  life.  I  stopped,  and  imagined  that  I  was  as 
thej  were  who  first  explored  this  ridgy  wilderness,  and  knew  that,  as 
far  as  eye  could  reach,  not  a  white  man  lived.  And  yet  these 
thoughts  Avere  soon  chased  away  with  the  certainty  that  under  that 
silvery  haze  were  thousands  of  toiHng  men,  romping  children,  mothers 
and  maidens,  and  the  world  was  going  on  below  just  as  usual.  How 
are  the  birds  to  be  envied  who  make  airy  mountains  by  their  wings  I 
Could  I  rise  six  thousand  feet  above  the  ground,  that  were  substan- 
tially to  be  on  the  mountain  top.  Then,  when  the  multitude  wearied 
us,  and  the  soul  would  bathe  in  silence,  we  would  with  a  few  beats 
lift  up  through  the  air,  and  seek  the  solitude  of  space,  and  hide  in 
the  clefts  of  clouds,  or  ride  unexplored  ranges  of  crystal  white  cloud- 
mountains,  that  scorn  footsteps,  and  on  whose  radiant  surfaces  an 
ai*my  of  feet  would  wear  no  path,  leave  no  mark,  but  fade  out  as  do 
steps  upon  the  water  ! 

"  And  so,  for  a  half  hour,  I  rode  alone,  without  the  rustle  of  leaves, 
— without  hum  or  buzz, — without  that  nameless  mixture  of  pipes, 
small  and  great,  that  fill  the  woods,  or  sing  along  the  surface  of  the 
plains.  There  were  no  nuts  to  fall,  no  branches  to  snap,  no  squirrel 
to  bark,  no  birds  to  fly  out  and  flap  away  through  the  leaves.  The 
matted  moss  was  born  and  bred  in  silence.  The  stunted  savins  and 
cedars  crouched  down  close  to  the  earth  from  savage  winds,  as  par- 
tridi2;es  crouch  when  hawks  are  in  the  air.  The  forests  in  the  chasms 
and  valleys  below  were  like  bushes,  or  overgrown  moss.  If  there 
was  any  wind  down  there, — if  they  shook  their  leaves  to  its  piping, 
and  danced  when  it  bid  them,  it  was  all  the  same  to  me, — for  motion 
or  rest  were  alike  at  this  distance. 

"  There  is  above  every  man's  head  a  height  into  which  he  may 
rise,  and,  Avhether  care  and  trouble  fret  below  or  tear  on,  they  be- 
come alike  silent  and  powerless.  It  is  only  our  affections  that  mount 
up,  and  dwell  with  us,  where  bickerings  and  burdens  never  come." 


THE    CONNECTICUT    VALLEY. 


The  inounhdm  indeed,  that  they  may  show  their  dignity  and  ccmimunicate  their  Juvois.  re- 
quire to  be  approarhed  ivith  fjreat  painstakinq  aiul  peculiar  respect.  But  no  oriental  king  ever 
held  himself  in  greater  seclusion,  or  ever  vouchsafed  more  dim  and  inadequate  uMons  cf  his 
personal  glory,  ihan  do  they  to  those  remote  from  their  dwelling.  The  difference  for  the  be- 
holder of  mountains,  however,  does  not  arise  merely  from  the  difficulty  of  receiving  their  forms 
without  sight  purely  into  the  imagination,  but  also  from  the  preparation  of  mind  occasioned  by 
the  traveller's  own  long  and  laborious  search  after  their  grandeur.  Eepays,  in  his  own  expo- 
sure and  toil  and  patience,  the  price  of  admission  to  their  incomparable  theatre.  Ee  gains 
gradually  the  mood  to  ajjpreciate  and  enjoy  them  ;  arid  his  mind  exjtands  to  their  breadth,  arid 
grows  up  to  their  exaltation.  A  man  in  his  easy-chair,  reading  a  book  or  looking  at  a  j)rint, 
can  but  partially  conceive  their  character.  He  treads  in  the  edge  of  their  imagi%iary  shadow, 
instead  of  scaling  their  real  height.  Yet  is  it  well  worth  the  while  to  catch  even  hints  and 
refections  of  their  wondrous  substance  which  God  made  and  upreared,  to  be  seen  and  remem- 
bered and  related  among  men. 

The  plains,  all  save  a  few  barren  deserts  of  sand,  have  yielded  to  the  possession  of  human 
art.  The  hills,  as  in  the  old  Scriptures  they  are  called,  are,  indeed,  everlasting.  When  we 
have  left  them,  tJiey  cannot  be  forgotten  or  removed  from  our  thought.  As  we  still  feel  in  our 
nerves  the  motion  of  the  sea  after  ive  have  planted  our  feet  on  the  firm  land,  so  the  crests  and 
hollows  of  the  solid  globe  continue  to  make  themselves  felt  in  our  mind.  Away  vastly  they  stretch 
in  their  earthy  storm,  Uieir  fixed  fluctuation,  their  surge  of  primeval  rock  into  the  skies.  Once 
seen,  ever  after  remaining  a  new  and  glorious  furniture  of  the  mind,  in  their  immense  spread 
on  the  floor  of  the  wwld,  wondrously  somehow,  with  no  loss  of  size,  transferred  to  the  chambers  oj 
the  imagination,  they  stand  there,  a  mute,  material  warning  against  all  moral  narrowness  and  big- 
otry. Liberty  and  law,  rnagnanimity  and  humility,  inflexible  sincerity  and  inexhaustible  bounty, 
are  their  lesso7is.  Purity  ever  descending  from  the  heavens,  in  their  flowing  robes  or  frozen 
garb,  is  their  perpetual  example  and  admonition.  And  he  that  climbeth  up  their  side,  reso- 
lutely keeping  the  rcnigh  and  devious  yet  ascending  way,  his  prospect  widening  with  every  step 
OS  he  goes  on,  till  at  the  natural  column's  head,  held  up  so  mightily  and  so  high,  he  trembles  at 
hetuieen  two  worlds,  wiU  be  reminded  oJ  his  immortality. 

Q  Eev.  C.  a.  Bartol. 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY. 

Properly,  according  to  the  plan  we  have  generally  followed  in 
the  book,  the  views  of  the  White  Mountain  range  from  Bethlehem, 
and  along  the  course  of  the  Ammonoosuc  near  the  White  Mountain 
House  and  the  ruins  of  the  old  Fabyan  Hotel,  belong  to  this  chapter. 
They  lie  upon  the  slopes  which  the  Connecticut  drains.  We  Avish, 
however,  to  call  attention  in  this  concluding  chapter  to  a  few  promi- 
nent views  of  the  Washington  range  from  the  Connecticut  itself,  and 
to  show  how  the  noblest  of  these  pictures  can  be  enjoyed  in  connec- 
tion with  the  usual  White  Mountain  tour. 

There  is  a  striking  picture  of  the  great  chain  from  the  village  of 
Littleton,  and  all  along  the  stage-route  to  Lancaster.  Views  not 
only  of  the  grandest  peaks,  but  also  of  the  Franconia  range,  burst 
upon  the  traveller  in  connection  with  a  breadth  of  open  country,  and 
rich  rolls  of  cultivated  upland  that  seem  to  be  set  there  less  for  their 
bounty  than  their  color,  which  may  claim  to  be  ranked  among  the 
rarest  landscapes  to  which  our  volume  has  called  attention.  And 
they  are  a  fitting  introduction  to  the  scenery  around  Lancaster.  We 
have  already  said  in  the  opening  chapter,  that  if  Lancaster  had  been 
made  accessible,  a  few  years  ago,  by  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway,  it 
would  have  been  the  great  rival  of  North  Conway.  With  the  attrac- 
tive accommodation  it  now  offers  in  its  elegant  and  spacious  Hotel,  it 
will  be  sure  to  draw  a  large  and  increasing  number  of  guests,  every 
year,  to  submit  themselves  to  the  charm  of  the  soothing  hills  that 
immediately  encircle  it ;  to  enjoy  the  drives  along  the  banks  of  the 
curving  Connecticut ;  and,  from  the  luxury  of  color  and  shadow  spread 
wide  over  its  intervale  in  a  soft  afternoon  light,  to  mount  upon  the 
Lunenburg  Hills,  where  the  bright  blue  of  the  river  and  the  embow- 

50 


374 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 


ered  homes  of  the  village  are  set  in  the  reUef  and  under  the  protec- 
tion of  the  long  White  Mountain  wall,  tinged  with  the  violet  of  de- 
parting day. 

There  is  no  single  meadow-view  in  Lancaster  equal  to  the  intervale 


of  North  Conway.  But  the  river  is  incomparably  superior  to  the 
Saco ;  and  in  the  combined  charm,  for  walks  or  rides,  of  meadow  and 
river — the  charm  not  of  wildness,  such  as  the  darker  and  more  rapid 
A.ndroscoggin  gives,  but  a  cheerful  brightness  and  beneficence — Lan- 
caster is  unrivalled. 


THE    CONNECTICUT   VALLEY. 


375 


■And  when  the  distant  mountain  rangps 
In  moonlight  or  blue  mist  are  clad. 

Oft  memor}'  all  the  landscape  changes, 
And  pensive  thoughts  are  blent  with  glad 

For  then  as  in  a  dream  Klysian, 
Val  d'Arno's  fair  and  loved  domain 

Seems,  to  my  rapt,  yet  waking  vision. 
To  yield  familiar  charms  again! 

Save  that  for  dome  and  turret  hoary 

Amid  the  central  valley  lies 
A  white  church-spire  unknown  to  story, 

And  smoke-wreathes  from  a  cottage  rise. 


Yet  here  may  willing  eyes  discovei 

The  art  and  life  of  every  shore, 
For  Nature  bids  her  patient  lover 

All  true  similitudes  explore. 

These  firs,  when  cease  their  boughs  to  quiver, 
Stand  like  pagodas  Brahmins  seek. 

Yon  isle,  that  parts  the  winding  river, 
Seems  moulded  from  a  light  caique. 


370  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

And  ferns  thaf  :n  tJese  groves  are  hidden. 

Are  sculptured  like  a  dainty  frieze, 
While  choral  music  steals  unbidden, 

As  undulates  the  forest  breeze. 

A  Gothic  arch  and  springing  column, 

A  floral-dyed  mosaic  ground, 
A  twilight  shade  and  vista  solemn, 

In  all  these  sylvan  haunts  are  found. 

Lancaster  is  Avell  situated  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  winter  effects 
upon  the  mountains.  It  was  the  writer's  fortune  once  to  pass  a  few 
days  in  the  village  and  its  neighborhood,  early  in  March,  when  the 
hue  of  the  White  Mountains  justified  their  name,  and  they  stood  up 
m  the  full  splendor  of  their  snowy  regalia. 

It  was  in  a  week  that  opened  a  "  sectional  "  view  of  winter,  showing 
it  enthroned  on  the  hills  in  the  gorgeous  panoply  of  its  despotism. 
The  days  ran  over  nearly  the  whole  scale  of  the  season's  tempera- 
ture, swept  the  gamut  of  its  music,  and  displayed  the  resources  of 
its  winter-palette  on  the  landscape.  We  had  warm  weather  and 
savage  cold  ;  gray  skies  and  cloudless  blue  ;  the  mountains  were 
wrapped  in  frosty  veils,  and  soon  stood  up  chiselled  sharp  on  the 
spotless  sky  ;  still  mornings  dawned,  when  the  smoke, — "  the  azure 
pillars  of  the  hearth," — rose  to  the  heights  of  the  neighboring  peaks 
without  bending,  and  were  swiftly  succeeded  by  furious  gusts  ;  golden 
evenings  followed  hard  upon  thick  afternoons,  and  died  into  spark- 
ling nights,  when  the  valleys  were  lustrous  with  "  the  spears  of  moon- 
freezing  crystals." 

On  the  first  day  of  our  visit  the  weather  was  genial,  and  low  clouds 
from  the  sea  Avere  scudding  fast  towards  the  mountains.  But  tow- 
ards night,  Shawondasee  and  Wabun — as  the  south  and  the  east 
winds  have  been  christened  for  us  in  "  Hiawatha  " — raised  a  savage 
warwhoop  all  through  the  valley,  and  pelted  the  region  with  squalls 
of  snow.  On  Tuesday  "  the  fierce  Kabibonokka  "  was  on  hand  to 
drive  them  back.     Down  he  came 

from  his  lodge  of  snow-drilTs 
From  his  home  among  the  icebergs, 


THE    CONNECTICUT  VALLEY.  377 

And  his  hair,  with  snow  bespi"inkled, 
Streamed  behind  liim  like  a  river, 
Like  a  black  and  wintry  river. 
As  he  howled  and  hurried  southward. 
Over  frozen  lakes  and  moorlands. 

Only  we  must  make  exception  from  the  poet's  description  in  tho 
matter  of  the  hair.  It  was  not  black,  nor  gloomy.  The  dishevelled 
clouds  that  rushed  across  the  hills  were  smitten  with  fitful  sunshine, 
and  fluttered  in  golden  threads  as  they  scattered  their  sparkles  south- 
ward. After  the  furious  norther  had  blown  the  sky  clear,  it  whirled 
the  light  snow  in  clouds,  stopped  railroad  trains,  and  brought  the 
temperature  before  night  to  ten  below  zero.  What  plumes  it  fastened 
upon  the  sharpest  peaks  !  It  swept  the  snow  over  them  as  an  oiF- 
shore ,  breeze  loosens  the  spray  of  breaking  billows,  tossed  it  in 
feathery  spires  to  flash  in  the  sunshine,  and  then  would  whirl  a  cloud 
of  the  dazzling  dust  around  the  necks  of  the  mountains,  till  you  felt 
that  they  must  gasp  from  suSbcation.  The  rarest  poetry  of  the  win- 
ter scenery  was  painted  on  the  eye  in  these  antics  of  the  hurricanes. 

If  one  could  enjoy  the  open  air  as  freely,  and  find  it  as  genial  in 
the  Avinter,  as  in  the  summer,  we  cannot  doubt  that  the  colors  on  the 
bleached  landscapes  would  be  found  as  inviting  as  those  which  blend 
into  the  summer  pomp.  The  distant  views  of  the  great  range  in 
summer  are  certainly  far  inferior  to  those  we  enjoyed  in  the  approach 
to  them  in  March,  when  it  sweUed  soft,  vague,  and  golden, — a  pigmy 
Monte  Rosa,  on  the  northwestern  sky.  Lafayette  has  never  shown 
itself  to  such  advantage  in  July  as  it  did  then  from  Lancaster  at 
evening,  when  the  blustering  clouds  parted  to  let  its  white  wedge  be 
visible,  burnished  to  an  amber  blaze  by  the  setting  sun,  and  driven 
as  one  crystal  into  the  chilly  sky.  And  the  Stratford  peaks  do  not 
look  so  high  and  solemn  m  August,  Avhen  the  sun  fevers  their  sheer 
precipices,  as  at  such  a  time  in  their  priestly  drapery.  On  all  the 
bald  ridges  and  crests  the  silver  splendor  was  reheved  against  the 
blue.  This  makes  the  richest  charm  of  the  Alps  ;  and  one  could  then 
drive  among  the  White  Hills  as  through  a  mimic  Switzerland.  Yes, 
and  the  colors  must  have  been  essentially  the  same.     For  the  artist 


378  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

that  would  paint  the  magnificence  we  saw  on  the  Pilot  Hills  and  the 
White  Mountain  range  at  sunset  and  sunrise  from  Lancaster,  must 
dip  his  brush  into  as  exquisite  ambers,  plum  tints,  gold,  and  purple, 
as  he  would  need  to  interpret  the  baptism  of  the  evening  upon  Mont 
Blanc,  or  the  morning  glow  upon  the  Jungfrau. 

During  the  same  visit  we  enjoyed  a  ride  among  the  famiUar  hilla 
of  the  Androscoggin  Valley,  and  can  recall  the  contrast  to  the  gen- 


eral wildness  given  by  a  drive  from  Gorham  to  the  Glen.  The  high 
walls  which  guard  that  road  from  the  northwesters  had  saved  the 
snow  from  drifts.  It  lay  for  six  miles  perfectly  even,  to  the  depth 
of  some  six  inches,  without  blemish  ;  and  unbroken,  except  by  a 
large  sled-load  of  hay  that  had  been  driven  over  it,  and  Avhich,  over- 
hanging the  runners,  had  left  delicately  pencilled  lines  all  along  the 
untrodden  margins  of  the  path.  The  green  on  Carter  and  Moriah, 
\t  the  left,  was  turned  into  rusty  bronze,  and  the  snow  which  shone 


THE    CONNfXTICUT   VALLEY.  879 

through  the  stripped  trees  around  the  roots  of  the  forests  made 
their  sombre  sides  look  as  though  thej  had  been  powdered  with  crys- 
tal dust.  Every  blackened  stump  along  the  roadside  seemed  an 
Ethiopian  head  crowned  with  a  graceful  and  stainless  turban.  Each 
rock  in  the  river-bed  showed  a  fantastic  nightcap.  The  springs  were 
"  stagnant  with  wrinkling  frost."  And  at  every  turn,  old  Washing- 
ton was  bulging  into  the  cold  and  brilliant  blue  with  irregular  white- 
ness ;  or  Madison,  in  more  feminine  symmetry,  displayed  a  fresh  view 
of  sloping  shoulders  clasped  to  the  waist  in  ermine. 

But  the  most  impressive  features  of  the  scene  were  those  which 
started  out  by  moonlight.  Then,  with  the  thermometer  at  twelve 
below  zero,  and  the  wind  ciitting  as  you  drove  against  it,  as  if  deter- 
mined to  bite  into  the  brain,  one  might  easily  fancy  himself  in  an 
arctic  latitude.  The  full  moon  turned  the  great  hills  into  ghastly 
domes  and  pyramids  of  chalk.  The  air  seemed  weird.  There  was 
no  sound  of  brawling  brooks,  or  running  river,  or  chirping  insect  life, 
as  in  summer.  The  stars  flashed  without  sympathy  in  the  bleak  sky. 
Going  from  such  a  ride  to  the  volumes  of  the  lamented  and  heroic 
Kane,  we  could  understand  better  the  pictures  that  line  the  memory 
of  the  survivors  of  that  devoted  band.  Those  stiff,  white  peaks  tow- 
ered as  gravestones  over  the  creative  forces  that  once  filled  the  val- 
ley with  joy,  and  painted  it  with  verdure. 

But  what,  we  thought,  is  so  mystic  as  the  processes  of  Providence 
most  familiar  to  us  !  Only  a  few  weeks  will  pass  before  the  frosty 
whiteness  shall  be  chipped  from  those  cliffs  ;  the  crystal  sphnters 
that  fly  from  the  sunbeams'  chisels  will  melt  into  music,  and  feed 
the  mosses  of  the  mountain-top,  and  sing  in  the  rills  that  dance 
towards  the  sea  ;  and  the  stars  will  glow  over  the  bursting  promise 
of  June. 

And  now  we  must  call  attention  to  the  route  by  which,  in  the  early 
beauty  of  June,  or  in  the  full  splendor  of  summer,  the  traveller  may 
be  introduced  to  the  most  impressive  view  of  the  White  Mountain 
range  which  the  slopes  towards  the  Connecticut  command.     This  is 


380  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

gained  by  passing  from  the  Androscoggin  Valley  over  towaids  the 
Connecticut  by  what  is  called 


THE  CHERRY  MOUNTAIN  ROAD, 

from  Gorham  to  the  Notch.  The  distance  is  thirty-four  miles.  At 
Jefferson  Hill,  eighteen  miles  from  Gorham,  the  distance  is  only  seven 
miles  to  the  Connecticut  in  Lancaster  ;  but  the  road  here  intersects, 
by  a  very  acute  angle,  with  a  road  across  the  Jefferson  meadows,  and 
over  a  low  spur  of  Cherry  Mountain  to  the  Crawford  House  at  the 
Notch,  which  is  sixteen  miles  distant  from  Jefferson  Hill.  With  the 
exception  of  about  two  miles  on  Cherry  Mountain^and  this  portion 
only  rough,  but  not  in  the  least  dangerous — the  road  is  as  good  aa 
any  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  White  Hills.  It  can  easily  be  trav- 
elled from  Gorham  in  seven  hours. 

We  give  these  particulars  because  as  yet  there  are  no  regular 
stages  on  the  route.  Parties  are  sent  by  private  stage  wagons  from 
the  Alpuie  House  in  Gorham.  Comparatively  few  of  the  White 
Mountaui  tourists  have  become  acquainted  with  the  scenery,  or  even 
perhaps  know  of  the  route  up  to  this  time.  But  it  is  steadily 
securing  a  wider  attention,  and  is  destined  before  long,  we  think, 
to  attract  a  large  proportion  of  the  travellers  who  now  pass  to 
or  from  the  Notch  and  the  Glen  by  the  way  of  Jackson  and  Bart- 
lett,  a  distance  of  thirty-six  miles  to  the  Glen,  and  of  forty-four  to 
Gorham. 

The  question  of  the  comparative  merits  of  the  two  routes,  as  to 
scenery,  is  often  raised.  On  the  regular  stage-road  from  the  Glen  to 
the  Notch,  after  leaving  the  Glen  House,  there  is  no  full  view  of  the 
great  White  Mountain  range.  There  is  a  glimpse  of  Mount  Wash- 
ington about  three  miles  from  the  Glen,  near  the  entrance  to  the 
Crystal  Cascade,  and  a  very  noble  view  of  it  on  looking  back  after 
passing  Cook's,  on  the  edge  of  Jackson.  But  after  that,  not  only 
Washington,  but  the  range,  is  hidden  by  lower  hills  during  the  whole 


THE   CONNECTICUT   VALLEY. 


381 


distance.  These  hills  are  very  lovely,  and  the  drive  is  thoroughly 
delightful,  but  it  does  not  make  one  acquainted,  as  the  Cherry  Moun- 
tain route  does,  with  the  whole  of  the  Mount  Washington  range. 
And  certainly  if  a  person  has  once  travelled  the  Jackson  and  Bar^ 
lett  road,  he  should  by  all  means,  on  the  second  visit,  try  the  north' 
erly  circuit  to  the  Notch  through  Jefferson. 


By  this  Cherry  Mountain  route,  after  the  first  mile  from  the  Al- 
pme  House  in  Gorham,  we  are  in  company  with  the  White  Mountains 
propel  for  twenty-five  miles.  We  take  them  up  into  fellowship  grad- 
ually. The  range  is  in  the  shape  of  the  body  of  a  figure  five,  and 
we  go  around  the  bulge  of  it,  formed  by  the  curve  in  which  the  five 
largest  mountains  are  set.     First  Madison  and  Adams  come  into 


382  THE   WHITE   HH.LS. 

view,  and  we  drive  directly  by  their  base  and  under  their  summits  in 
passing  over  Randolph  Hill. — This  view  we  have  already  described 
m  the  chapter  on  the  Androscoggin  Valley. — Next,  after  passing  the 
great  ravine  in  Mount  Adams, — of  which  we  gave  a  drawing  in  the 
last  chapter, — Mount  Jefferson  comes  into  view.  Here  the  driver 
should  rein  up  to  allow  something  more  than  hasty  glances  at  the 
three  majestic  forms  that  tower  over  the  path,  and  especially  to  let 
passengers  enjoy  the  castellated  ridge  of  Mount  Jefferson,  whose 
rocks  rising  over  a  steep  ravine  seem  to  be  the  turrets  of  decaying 
fortifications.  The  artist's  sketch  of  these  romantic  looking  cliffs  was 
taken,  not  from  below,  but  from  Mount  Adams  on  the  ridge,  nearly 
four  thousand  feet  above. 

Riding  a  little  farther  on,  we  see  the  summits  of  Pleasant,  Frank- 
lin, and  Monroe  start  out  above  the  forests  on  the  left.  Next  Mouns 
Clay  makes  its  appearance.  And  then,  as  we  look  back,  the  ascend- 
ing line  of  Washington  shows  itself  last  of  all,  though  it  is  the  centre 
of  the  range,  leaving  the  wilderness  behind  it  as  it  mounts  to  a 
rocky  crest.  The  point  we  speak  of  now  is  Martin's  in  Jefferson, 
about  thirteen  miles  from  Gorham.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  snake, 
half  startled  and  half  playful,  raise  its  supple  neck  and  support  its 
wary  head  for  a  moment  by  a  curve  that  is  the  poetry  of  rest  ?  Then 
you  know  something  of  the  vitality,  blending  pride  and  grace,  of  the 
Une,  seen  from  this  point,  on  which  the  upper  rocks  of  Mount  Wash- 
ington are  borne  to  their  airy  majesty. 

Goethe  somewhere  gives  a  picture  in  words  of  a  typical  Alpine 
landscape, — groups  of  deep  shady  trees  of  different  species,  standing 
out  over  a  fresh  green  foreground  which  is  fanned  by  soft  airs  thai. 
seem  to  put  the  lights  in  motion ;  a  middle  ground  of  lively  green 
tone  growing  fainter  as  it  ascends  ;  wide  pastures  on  the  slopes  of 
the  higher  districts,  where  dark  sohtary  firs  stand  forth  from  the 
grassy  carpet,  and  foaming  brooks  rush  down  from  clifis  whose  wind- 
ing steeps  are  climbed  by  laden  mules ;  and  above,  the  topmost 
Alpine  range,  where  neither  tree  nor  shrub  appears,  but  only  amid 
the  rocky  teeth  and  snow  summits  a  few  sunny  spots  clothe  them- 


THE    CONNECTICUT   VALLEY  383 

selves  with  a  soft  sward  on  which  the  chamois  feeds.  Compared 
with  such  picture?  the  White  Mountain  scenery  must  seem  monoto- 
nous. But  there  is  no  point  in  New  Hampshire  Avhere  its  monotony 
is  so  poetic  and  sublime,  where  the  Avilderness,  miles  and  miles  in  ex- 
tent, unenlivened  by  a  clearing  or  the  smoke  of  a  cabin,  unravaged 
by  tlie  axe  and  unspotted  by  fire,  flows  off  in  such  noble  lines  and 
folds  from  the  shoulders  of  the  bleak  hills.  The  forms  of  the  moun 
tains  are  nobler  on  this  side  than  on  the  side  towards  the  old  Fabyan 
place  near  the  Notch.  The  largest  members  of  the  range  are  the 
most  prominent  here.  The  ridge  is  not  so  lank,  and  its  braces  run 
out  with  more  vigor  ;  the  ravines  are  more  powerfully  furrowed  ;  and 
Mount  Washington  is  far  better  related  to  the  chain. 

Then  a  most  striking  contrast  to  all  the  preceding  scenery  is 
opened  when  the  height  of  land  in  Jefferson  is  gained,  and  we  look 
off  towards  Lancaster.  At  first  sight  there  is  something  grander  than 
the  range  behind  us  in  the  long  lines  croAvned  with  forest  that  sweep 
with  even  slope  towards  the  Connecticut.  And  what  breadth  of 
prospect !  At  the  left,  the  Cherry  Mountain  heaving  out  of  a  vast 
plain  attracts  us  ;  then  at  the  right,  the  Pliny  ridge,  on  which,  far  up 
towards  the  summit,  the  wilderness  has  been  displaced  by  smiUng 
farms  ;  the  cultivated  hills  of  Bethlehem  glow  like  huge  opals  on  the 
west ;  and  more  northerly  than  these,  and  far  beyond  them,  summits 
of  the  Vermont  Mountains  peer  dim  and  blue.  The  view  is  as  vast 
as  from  many  a  mountain- top. 

But  it  is  from  Goodell's,  eighteen  miles  from  Gorham,  where  the 
road  turns  towards  the  Notch,  that  the  scenery  on  a  clear  day  is 
grandest.  Here  Lafayette,  with  other  Franconia  mountains,  comes 
into  view.  From  no  point  is  a  better  landscape-picture  of  him  to  be 
gained  than  he  offers  here  with  that  long  serrated  summit,  and  the 
precipices  of  his  sides  reduced  to  dimples.  And  here,  too,  the  color 
of  the  White  Hills  is  richest  in  the  late  afternoon  light.  From  tliis 
point  for  five  miles  over  the  Jefferson  meadows,  in  travelUng  towards 
the  Notch,  we  ride  in  full  view  of  every  summit  of  the  chain,  seeing 
Washington  in  the  centre  dominant  over  all. 


384 


THE    WHITE   HILLS. 


Such  is  a  faint  suggestion  of  the  characteristic  scenery  by  the 
Cherry  Mountain  road  to  the  Crawford  House.  In  some  respects 
the  return  ride  from  the  Notch  to  Gorham  is  more  interesting,  from 
the  fact  that  from  Goodell's  we  drive  towards  the  range,  seeing  it 
darken  more  and  more  as  we  approach  its  base  ;  but  there  are  some 
advantages  in  the  outward  ride  to  offset  this.  There  is  as  much 
l)eauty  to  be  enjoyed  on  other  routes ;    but  for  grandeur,  and  for 


opportunities  of  studying  the  wildness  and  majesty  of  the  sovereign 
range,  the  Cherry  Mountain  route  is  without  a  rival  in  New  Hamp- 
shire. There  is  as  yet  no  large  pubUc-house  in  Jefferson.  If  a 
good  hotel  should  be  erected  there,  the  village  would  soon  become 
one  of  the  most  popular  resorts  among  the  mountains,  and  the  road 
we  have  been  describing  would  need  no  further  introduction  of  its 
advantages  and  claims. 


One  of  the  most  delightful  acquaintances  we  have  made  with  the 


THE  connp:cticut  VALLEV'.  385 

scenery  on  the  Cherry  Mountain  road,  was  after  a  long  rain,  in  which 
we  had  been  locked  up  in  the  Franconia  Notch. 

"  Wednesday  noon,  there  is  a  patch  of  blue  overhead,  and  the  rain 
stops.  Let  us  take  wagon  and  be  off.  No  sooner  were  we  out  of 
the  Notch  than  the  rain  returned  into  it  for  two  or  three  days  further 
drenching.  We  escaped  a  wetting  ;  but  not  a  peep  of  Lafayette 
would  the  black  clouds  permit.  Does  it  not  try  the  very  springs  of 
one's  patience,  to  drive  twice  along  the  hue  of  splendid  scenery, 
which  the  breath  of  the  west  would  open,  and  to  see  nothing  but  the 
proscenium  curtain  of  ashy  mist  ?  The  whole  sky  was  dark  and  wet. 
The  world  seemed  '  covered  with  the  deep  as  with  a  garment :  the 
waters  stood  above  the  mountains.'  But  we  soon  found  that  there 
was  compensation  even  for  the  angry  sky  and  the  absence  of  moun- 
tain views.  I  had  never  seen  any  mountain  torrents  in  full  power. 
Now,  that  chapter  of  hill-passion  was  to  be  opened.  Lafayette  was 
veiled,  but  he  was  eloquent.  Every  vein  of  the  sloping  fields  was 
swollen  with  the  recent  bounty  of  the  clouds,  of  which  the  ravines  in 
the  Franconia  ridge  were  the  almoners.  Rills  were  promoted  into 
brooks.  Brooks  were  enlarged  into  streams.  Little  trout-streams 
were  foaming  rapids.  The  feeders  of  the  large  rivers  of  New  Eng- 
land, that  generally  ripple  along  in  the  summer,  in  shrunken  chan- 
nels, with  drowsy  murmur,  were  roaring  and  frightful  floods. 

"  Every  note  in  the  scale  of  fresh-water  music  was  struck  by  the 
full  baptism  of  those  persistent  clouds.  You  could  hear  the  plash  and 
babble  of  a  new-born  streamlet, — the  first  infant  cooins;  of  a  river, — 
as  it  came  soft  over  the  bent  grass  ;  the  dash  down  a  channelled 
bank  of  a  rivulet ;  the  full-throated  gurgle  of  a  runnel  through  a 
rocky  passage  ;  the  singing  of  a  rill  that  swept  across  a  pasture  and 
dived  under  the  little  corduroy  bridges  of  the  road  ;  the  anxious  bari- 
tone of  a  hurrying  stream  that  seemed  fearful  it  could  not  do  all  the 
business  it  had  on  hand  for  that  day.  The  air  was  filled  with  the 
chorus  of  the  rain.  One  Avould  think  that  an  hour  or  two  of  such 
rage  would  drain  the  hills  of  their  legacy.  Must  not  every  rock  of 
old  Lafayette  be  pouring  a  tide  which  some  magic  rod  has  unsealed 


386  THE  WHITE  HH.LS. 

from  them  ?  The  great  business  of  the  hill-tops,  during  the  drought, 
seemed  to  be  to  conjure  the  rain  for  the  parching  fields  ;  now,  they 
had  their  hands  full  to  get  rid  of  the  superriuitj.  The  cataracts  and 
cascades  are  tasked  to  their  utmost.  No  room  for  beauty  now. 
Duty  and  use  are  the  overseers  of  to-day.  Next  -week,  the  feathery 
spray  may  break  over  the  rocks,  and  the  thin  tides  break  themselves 
in  silvery  plaitings  among  the  forest  dells  and  chasms,  over  the  mossy 
stones ;  but  now,  all  the  scuppers  of  the  mountains  must  spout  to 
save  the  pastures  and  harvests  from  ruin. 

"  The  grandeurs  of  the  ride  towards  Gorham  across  the  prominent 
streams,  kept  close  on  the  limits  of  ravage.    The  '  wild  Ammonoosuc  ' 
ran  fierce  and  '  arrowy,'  purple  in  his  rage,  just  ready  to  burst  his 
bounds  and  desolate  the  fields.     At  the  same  time,  the  Pemigewasset 
was  sweepmg  wood,  by  the  thousand  cords,  over  the  tops  of  the  corn, 
in  the  Plymouth  valley.     Large  streams  from  districts  of  red-colored 
earth  added  to  the  wildness  of  the  ride  by  their  full  gutters  of  blood. 
We  saw  the  depredators  at  work  that  bother  the  stage-drivers  so,  and 
increase  the  county  taxes.     Rills  were  invading  the  roads,  running 
down  and  across  them,  gullying  them,  tearing  the  earth  out,  now  and 
then,  and  leaving  holes  large  enough  to  upset  a  carriage,  and  almost 
to  hide  a  horse.     The  large  Ammonoosuc  swept  in  right  royal  style 
through  Bethlehem,  dashing  a  mad  mass  of  amber  and  foam  under 
the  arching  bridge,  which  the  waves  leaped  up  to  seize.     That  Avas 
the  contribution  of  Mount  Washington  to  a  flood  somewhere  along  on 
the  Connecticut, — his  assessment  on  a  railroad  company  for  a  bridge 
swept  ofi",  in  consideration  of  his  general  service  as  a  father  of  foun- 
tains and  a  purifier  of  the  winds.     Israel's  River,  in  Jefferson,  had 
turned  acres  of  meadow  into  ponds.     The  Saco  had  dashed  away 
several  small  bridges,  and  interrupted  for  some  days  the  travel  be- 
tween the  Notch  and  the  Glen.    The  Peabody  roared  over  the  whole 
of  its  broad  bed.     The  Moose  River,  that  flows  into  the  Androscog- 
gin near  the  Alpine  House,  raced  along  so  fiercely  that  a  bridge  was 
saved  only  by  chaining  it  to  some  trees. 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY.  387 

"  This  has  been  the  golden  week  of  the  summer.  The  heavy 
rains,  of  which  I  recently  wrote  you,  purged  the  air  to  crystal  clear- 
riess.  The  temperature  has  been  cool  enough  to  make  mid-day  riding 
eomfortable.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  we  are  living  in  August ; 
by  the  scenery-calendar  our  days  are  transposed  from  the  heart  of 
September.  Majestic  clouds — massive  fragments  of  the  storm — have 
l>een  rolling  out  of  the  west,  throwing  the  living  blue  of  the  sky  into 
relief  Avith  their  dazzling  domes,  and  interweaving  with  the  cool,  rich 
hght,  shadows  soft  as  plush,  as  a  royal  vesture  for  the  hills. 

"  But  when  their  week  of  duty  to  the  material  world  and  the  bodily 
necessities  was  over,  they  were  flooded  with  a  beauty  that  seemed 
eager  to  make  up,  by  its  quality,  for  the  gray  mufflers  of  mist  that 
had  hidden  them  so  long  from  the  sunshine  and  our  eyes.  And  so, 
this  week,  they  have  been  fountains  of  a  water  that  refreshes  the 
thirst  of  the  spirit.  I  have  visited  anew  all  the  familiar,  favorite 
spots  around  Gorham,  during  the  last  few  days,  and  have  found  them 
more  fascinating  in  their  new  investitures  than  the  first  sight  of  en- 
tirely new  landscapes  would  have  been.  All  the  hills  stood  out  in 
courtrcostume. 

"  And  now  let  us  take  a  ride  towards  the  village  of  Jefferson. 
Can  anything  be  more  fascinating  than  those  ripples  of  shadow  that 
flow  down  the  twin  peaks  of  Madison  and  Adams,  chased  by  flushes 
of  sunshine,  which  again  are  followed  by  thin  waves  of  gloom  ?  Let 
the  horse  walk  as  slowly  as  he  Avill,  while  we  feast  on  this  thrilhng 
unsteadiness  of  vesture  that  wanders  and  widens  from  pinnacle  to 
base.  Ride  on,  till  summit  after  summit  of  the  White  Mountain 
chain  comes  out,  and  then  return,  facing  their  broad  fortresses  of 
forest  crowned  with  naked  rock.  Notice  how  the  shadows  spot  them 
alternately,  so  that  Washington  and  Adams  are  kindled  into  hght, 
while  Madison  and  Jefferson  are  black-muzzled  with  darkness.  Look 
at  the  flashes  of  sunlight  on  the  hills,  that  turn  acres  of  the  clean- 
washed  wilderness  into  patches  of  shining  satin.  Watch  that  deep 
shadow  drop  from  a  burly  cloud  to  spread  a  velvet  cloak  on  the  moun- 
tain.    Look  off"  now,  as  the  village  of  Jefferson  Ues  at  your  feet,  and 


388  THE  WHITE    HU.LS. 

see  the  Green  Mountains,  the  PUny  Hills,  the  Franconia  range  stand 
up  as  exhibition  figui-es  to  show  off  the  deep  furs,  the  silky  lights,  the 
velvets,  brown,  blue,  and  blue-black,  that  are  woven  out  of  the  sky 
looms  to-day,  to  invest  them. 

"  But  the  most  surprising  beauty  awaits  us  as  we  ride  opposite  the 
gi*eat  ravine  of  Mount  Adams,  and  look  far  up  to  the  cascades,  with 
which  the  rains  have  enlivened  its  cliffs  and  slides.  Now  for  a  dis- 
play of  mountain  jewelry,  such  as  is  rarely  seen.  A  long,  narrow, 
leaping  stream  gleams  aloft, — a  chain  of  diamonds  dropped  from  the 
neck  down  the  bosom  of  the  mountain.  The  sun  looks  full  upon  it, 
while  the  wings  of  the  ravine  are  in  deep  shadow,  and  you  see  a 
broad  Avrapper  adorned  from  the  collar  downwards  with  flashing  gems. 
They  blaze  like  lumps  of  sunshine, — like  the  diamonds  on  the  crown 
of  the  skeleton  in  the  pass,  upon  which  young  Arthur  trod, 

and  the  skull 
Brake  from  the  nape,  and  from  the  skull  the  crown 
Rolled  into  light,  and  turning  on  its  rims, 
Fled  like  a  glittering  rivulet  to  the  tarn. 

The  shadow  falls  upon  the  cataract,  and  it  is  quenched, — put  out 
more  quickly  than  its  own  water  would  extinguish  a  small  fire.  It 
does  not  seem  possible  that  a  shadow  can  so  utterly  cancel  all  traces 
of  the  lovely  sheen  which  lay  in  the  gorge  a  moment  before.  But, 
if  we  watch  the  passing  away  of  the  shade,  we  shall  see  the  sunlight 
strike  the  top  of  it  again,  and  run  down,  waking  diamond  after  dia- 
mond into  glow,  till  the  string  is  all  alive  again.  Near  this  thread 
of  brilliants  is  a  huge  rock  over  which  a  stream  of  water  is  falling, 
and  that  blazes  like  a  mighty  Koh-i-noor.  The  shadow  ripples  over 
that,  too,  and  quenches  it.  It  flows  off,  and  instantly  the  rock  burns 
again  in  the  meridian  light.  Oh,  the  splendor  of  this  picture !  We 
stop  the  wagon  to  watch  the  curious  wrestle  of  the  waters, — vapor 
destroying  the  dazzling  glory  that  leaps  from  water  ;  we  can  hardly 
tear  ourselves  from  the  charming  show  of  the  sun's  repeated  gift  of 
jewels,  and  the  clouds'  continually  renewing  envy. 
"  The  oldest  settlers  in  these  valleys  said  that  carbuncles  gleamed 


THE   CONNECTICUT   VALLEY.  389 

on  the  cliffs  and  in  the  gorges  of  the  crystal  hills.  Many  are  the 
stories  about  the  pioneers  that  were  dazzled  by  their  splendor,  when 
lost  among  the  passes,  and  of  the  parties  that  afterwards  searched, 
and  searched  in  vain,  for  the  glittering  stones.  May  it  be  that  some 
stupid  and  frightened  wanderer  once  saw,  far  above  him  in  some  of 
these  chasms,  some  such  spectacle  of  flaming  cliff,  on  whose  wet  face 
the  sun  was  shining  ?  and  that  his  report  drew  bands  to  explore  the 
chambers  of  the  hills  for  gems  ?  Well,  Avhat  real  gem  could  have 
been  more  beautiful  than  that  flash  upon  the  worthless  granite  of  the 
ravine  and  precipice  ?  Did  not  the  beauty  we  looked  up  to  cost 
enough  to  be  reckoned  at  the  worth  of  diamonds.  It  required  the 
whole  sun,  and  the  ocean,  mother  of  the  rain,  and  the  volcanic  force 
that  drove  the  cliffs  into  the  sky,  and  the  laws  that  float  and  drive 
the  clouds,  to  make  it.  It  cost  nature  more  than  any  real  gem  that 
belongs  to  a  monarch's  treasury.  Why  then  should  it  be  thought  a 
stretch  of  fancy  to  speak  of  it  as  such  ?  It  is  beauty  which  God 
counts  precious  in  the  robing  of  the  globe,  and  what  matters  it 
whether  he  evoke  it  from  the  slow  crystal  chemistries  of  the  mine,  or 
bid  it  glow  at  once  on  the  mountain  forehead,  as  the  sun  smites  its 
face,  fresh  baptized  with  rain  ?  The  '  great  carbuncles '  of  the 
mountains  are  its  splendors  that  feed  and  quicken  the  sentiment  of 
beauty." 

Jefferson  Hill  (Goodell's)  may  without  exaggeration  be  called  the 
ultima  thule  of  grandeur  in  an  artist's  pilgrimage  among  the  New 
Hampshire  mountains,  for  at  no  other  point  can  he  see  the  White 
Hills  themselves  in  such  array  and  force.  This  view  has  other  quaU- 
fications  to  justify  such  a  claim.  The  distance  is  happily  fitted,  not 
only  to  display  the  confederated  strength  of  the  chain,  but  also  to 
reveal  in  the  essential  marks  of  form  and  texture  the  noblest  charac- 
ter of  the  separate  mountains.  As  we  have  said  also,  the  smaller 
Franconia  group  rises  farther  away  in  front,  separated  from  them 
by  the  dark  bulk  of  Cherry  Mountain  in  mid-ground  ;  and  on  the 
right  hand  the  savanna  that  stretches  along  the  Connecticut  pro 

52 


390  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

sents  a  landscape  contrast  of  a  magnitude  and  distinctness  rarely 
met  with. 

It  will  not  be  amiss,  if  at  this  point,  we  summon  before  the  mind's 
eye  for  comparison  the  six  most  attractive  landscape  views  wliich  the 
region  has  displayed  to  us,  namely, — the  views  from  Artist's  Hill  in 
North  Conway  ;  from  the  school-house  in  West  Campton  ;  from  the 
Glen  ;  from  Shelburne  about  two  miles  below  the  Lead-Mine  Bridge, 
on  the  east  bank  of  the  Androscoggin  ;  from  Milan  ;  and  from  Jeffer- 
son Hill.  In  the  ordinary  daylight  of  midsummer — that  is,  white 
light,  just  enough  tinged  with  color  to  give  it  warmth — these  views 
will  supply  different  general  impressions,  both  of  the  body  of  the  scenes 
and  their  color.  Between  Conway  and  Campton  there  will  be  the 
least,  and  between  the  former  and  the  Glen  the  most  difference. 

As  a  composition,  the  view  from  Artist's  Hill  is  very  symmetri- 
cally proportioned,  and  is  superior  to  any  other  in  the  variety  and 
graduations  of  its  forms.  Mount  Washington,  which  is  always  the 
leading  object  of  interest,  occupies  the  central  position.  The  inferior 
hills  rise  from  the  level  meadows  on  either  hand,  step  by  step  towards 
his  summit,  which  dominates  over  the  whole  scene.  In  this  noble 
symmetry  of  multitudinous  details  it  differs  from  most  of  the  other 
general  views  of  the  White  HUls.  The  Shelburne  view  is  superior  in 
simplicity,  largeness  of  features,  and  bold  picturesqueness.  In  grace- 
ful picturesqueness  it  must  yield  to  Conway  ;  but  the  mountain  forms 
in  Madison  and  the  crest  of  Jefferson  are  more  spirited  and  decisive. 
To  be  enjoyed  by  the  eye,  without  reference  to  the  artist's  purposes, 
we  think  that  the  greater  vigor  of  the  mountain  lines,  and  the  mar- 
vellous beauty  of  the  Androscoggin,  flowing  through  the  meadows 
from  the  very  base  of  Madison,  make  it  superior  to  the  view  from 
Artist's  Hill.  But  it  certainly  lacks  something  of  symmetry  and 
agreeableness  of  proportions,  as  well  as  extent  and  harmony  of  grada- 
tion, to  balance  its  greater  energy  and  demonstrative  splendor.  The 
effect  is  injured,  perhaps,  by  ha\ing  an  inferior  figure,  Mount  Madi- 
son, in  such  a  position  of  perspective  as  to  overtop  Mount  Washing- 
ton in  magnitude  and  prominence.     We  have  little  doubt,  however. 


THE   CONNECTICUT   VALLEY.  391 

that  the  majority  of  travellers,  if  they  could  be  carried  swiftly  from 
{joint  to  point,  Avould  give  the  preference,  on  the  whole,  to  the  Shel- 
burne  landscape  over  the  others.  The  Milan  view  is  superior  in 
symmetry  to  Shelburne,  but  is  not  equal  to  Conway  in  variety  and 
proportion.  The  arrangement  gives  three  distinct  distances  almost 
ungraduated.  First,  the  river  and  its  meadow  borders  suddenly  cut 
off  by  the  dark  joining  of  the  long  flattened  spur  of  the  Pilot  Hills, 
and  the  abrupt  and  higher  base  of  Mount  Hays  ;  beyond  these 
nothing  but  a  wide  space  of  gray  air ;  while  far  away  in  this  arise 
the  great  mountains  grouped  in  a  triple-peaked  pyramid,  admirable 
in  proportions,  and  strangely  beautiful  in  the  afternoon  light,  as  if 
their  surface  were  a  conglomerate  of  the  earth's  rarest  gems. 

From  the  School-House  Hill  in  Campton,  the  Franconia  Mountain 
view  shows  in  the  composition,  and  especially  in  the  nearer  features, 
nearly  as  much  variety  and  beauty  as  that  fr-om  the  hill  in  North 
Conway  ;  but  the  gradations  lack  boldness,  and  two  leading  points  of 
interest  in  the  distance — the  Notch  and  the  summit  of  Lafayette — 
somewhat  weaken  the  unity  and  effective  simplicity  of  the  whole.  In 
both  the  Glen  and  the  Jefferson  Hill  views  there  is  not  much  variety 
of  features  or  forms  ;  but  the  grandeur  of  the  few  they  have  ren- 
ders the  deficiency  of  slight  account,  while  the  arrangement  of  them 
serves  to  emphasize  individual  parts,  without  much  detriment  to  the 
symmetry  or  force  of  their  associated  effect. 

But  in  these,  as  in  nearly  all  other  natural  scenes,  it  is  not  so  much 
the  forms,  and  their  dimensions,  proportions,  and  arrangements  which 
produce  the  effect  of  beauty  and  sublimity,  as  the  quality,  variety, 
and  harmony  of  the  colors  which  overlay  and  imbue  them.  Indeed 
without  color  there  is  not  anything  in  nature  capable  of  artistic  or 
poetic  expression.  If  it  were  possible  to  mould  in  plaster  of  Paris  an 
exact  duplicate  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  the  range  of  which  it  is  the  head, 
and  to  set  the  model  in  place  of  the  removed  Alps,  surrounding  the 
A'hole  with  untinted  air,  the  necessity  of  color  to  expression  would 
need  no  further  argument. 


392  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

When  judged  in  respect  of  color,  we  must  make  a  different  distri 
bution  of  the  prominent  White  Mountain  news  in  rank  and  interest. 
Some  points  that  affect  the  senses  at  first  with  most  surprise,  and 
produce  the  most  powerful  effect,  Anil  have  the  least  attractions  in 
a  continued  \isit.  The  Xotch,  for  instance,  even  if  one  could  live 
there  without  fear,  would  be  found  very  tame  as  a  place  of  residence, 
on  account  of  the  grim  monotony  of  the  color  upon  its  dismantled 
walls.  And  of  the  six  views,  to  which  notice  has  just  been  called,  the 
Glen,  where  we  come  the  nearest  to  the  mountain  monarchs,  is  the 
least  rich  in  color.  It  shows  little  more  than  a  single  scale  of  hues, 
greatly  prolonged  and  subtly  graduated.  The  Shelburne  view  pre- 
sents in  its  color-scheme  a  combination  of  two  simple  scales,  which 
together  embrace  the  whole  scene.  The  Milan  view  shows  a  harmony 
resulting  from  the  contrast  of  three  different  and  distinct  scales,  which 
produce  a  general  impression  of  variety  with  very  little  intricacy,  so 
that  the  view  has  richness  with  simplicity.  From  Jefferson  Hill  also 
we  have  only  two  or  three  simple  scales  of  hues  intimately  blended. 

We  remember  hearing  an  artist  use  musical  analogies  to  hint  the 
character  and  contrasts  of  color-effects  in  these  news.  The  Glen 
theme  shows  the  striking  of  complex  low-toned  chords  in  vivid 
succession,  as  in  the  fortissimo  passages  of  grand  marches.  The 
color-music  of  the  Shelburne  landscape  gives  a  few  similar  but  im- 
pressive phrases  run  into  one  prolonged  forte  passage,  enlivened  by  a 
few  points  of  peculiar  emphasis.  The  hues  on  a  scene  like  that  which 
Milan  gives,  suggests  a  pastoral  strain  in  three  or  four  parts,  of  the 
character  of  Mendelssohn's  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream."  But  in 
views  like  that  from  Campton,  or  the  Artist's  Hill  in  North  Conway, 
color  is  displayed,  not  in  simpUcity  or  sombre  breadth,  but  in  variety 
and  splendor,  and  in  the  interminghng  of  several  contiguous  and  con- 
trasting scales.  He  spoke,  too,  if  we  remember  rightly,  of  the  differ- 
ence in  the  subtlety,  delicacy,  and  richness  of  the  dominant  hues  in 
each  of  these  scenes,  as  an  indication  or  type  of  the  difference  in  the 
splendor  of  their  general  effects.  The  gray  olive  hue  at  the  Glen 
expresses  a  sober  richness,  with  comparatively  little  subtlety  and  deli- 


THE   CONNECTICUT   VALLEY.  393 

3acj,  making  the  general  effect  a  simple  and  sombre  grandeur.  The 
light  and  rich  purple-ohve  at  Jefferson  Hill,  Avith  the  greater  dehcacy 
and  variety  displayed  there,  adds  beauty  to  majesty.  The  blue- 
brown  of  Shelburne,  the  yellow-purple  of  Milan,  and  the  violet-citrine 
of  Campton,  each  showing  an  ascent  of  tone  or  hue,  lead  up  to  the 
orange-russet  or  purple,  the  most  dehcate,  rich,  and  subtle  of  all, 
that  dominates  and  typifies  the  unsurpassed  magnificence  of  the 
color-harmonies  of  ConAvay. 

There  are  very  few,  however,  who  can  appreciate,  or  even  per- 
ceive— certainly  they  cannot  without  staying  several  days  at  a  time 
amid  the  various  scenes  just  spoken  of — the  differences  in  complexity 
of  color  and  richness  of  bloom  thus  indicated.  But  grandeur  of  form 
can  be  seen  and  felt  by  everybody.  And  the  White  Mountain  range 
is  so  much  grander  Avhen  seen  from  Jefferson  than  from  any  other 
point  Avhere  the  whole  of  it  is  displayed,  and  yet  is  set  at  such  a  dis- 
tance as  to  show  the  richest  hues  with  which,  as  one  feature  of  the 
landscape,  it  can  be  clothed,  that  Ave  must  award  to  this  village  the 
supremacy  in  the  one  element  of  mountain  majesty. 

And  here  Ave  must  turn  from  the  hills.  We  have  not  consciously 
neglected  or  slighted  any  landscape  in  the  compass  of  the  White 
Mountain  tour.  And  yet  our  acquaintance  Avith  the  mountains  can- 
not, at  the  close,"  be  measured  by  our  minute  familiarity  Avith  their 
heights,  contours,  and  hues.  Unless  Ave  find  them  something  more 
than  ministers  to  outward  health,  unless  Ave  find  them  quarries  of  a 
truth  more  substantial  than  geology,  and  treasuries  of  AA^ater  more 
vital  than  their  cascades  pour,  we  see  them  only  externally,  and  treat 
them  too  much  as  toys.  The  senses  simply  stare  at  nature.  The 
intellect,  by  means  of  the  senses,  discerns  regularity  and  laAv  ;  artis- 
tic taste  enjoys  the  bloom  and  beauty  which  possibly  slip  unnoticed 
?rom  the  eye  of  science  ;  but  it  is  the  faculty  of  spiritual  insight 
which  penetrates  to  the  inmost  meaning,  the  message  inA^olved  in  the 
facts  and  processes  of  the  material  creation. 


394  "I'HE    WHITE   HILLS. 

The  world  was  not  whittled  into  shape,  or  built  as  an  external 
thing  by  any  methods  of  carpentry.  God  could  not  create  anything 
other  than  vitally,  so  that  it  should  be  magnetized  with  His  attri- 
butes, and  exliale  them  to  our  faculties  in  proportion  as  they  are  fine 
enough  to  catch  the  efiiuence.  Nature  is  hieroglyphic.  Each  promi- 
nent fact  in  it  is  like  a  type :  its  final  use  is  to  set  up  one  letter  of 
the  infinite  alphabet,  and  help  us,  by  its  connections,  to  read  some 
statement  or  statute  applicable  to  the  conscious  world.  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing tells  us  that, 

not  a  natural  flower  can  grow  on  earth, 
Without  a  flower  upon  the  spiritual  side, 
Substantial,  archetypal,  all  aglow 
With  blossoming  causes. 

And  the  ultimate  service  of  a  flower,  a  grain-field,  a  forest,  or  a 
mountain,  is  to  authenticate  some  law  of  the  social  and  moral  world, 
by  showing  that  the  whole  creation,  material  and  rational,  is  built  on 
one  plan ;  and  that  all  reverence,  all  virtue,  all  charity,  is  conformity 
with  the  truth  of  things, — the  acceptance  by  men  of  the  principle 
that  sustains  the  order  and  determines  the  beauty  of  the  physical 
world. 

The  universe  was  created  so  as  to  serve  the  prophet's  purposes. 
All  the  dark  facts  in  it  dissolve  into  ink  to  write  the  folly  and  doom 
of  evil ;  all  the  winning  and  cheering  facts  in  it  melt  into  light  to 
commend  and  eulogize  what  is  good.  Whatever  we  see  "  respires 
with  inward  meaning."  When  we  have  demonstrated  the  law  of 
gravitation,  and  have  seen  how  its  force, — hidden  in  the  sun, — 
grasps  thence  the  farthest  planet,  and  balances  a  family  of  worlds, 
have  we  not  also  shown  how  the  justice  of  the  Infinite  Mind  grapples 
every  spirit  of  the  globe,  however  far  they  wander  from  him,  and 
holds  nations  as  well  as  men  by  the  invisible  tendrils  of  his  law  ? 
And  Avhen  we  untwist  the  rays  that  leap  unstinted  and  unceasing 
from  the  vesture  of  the  sun,  and  find  in  each  wave  of  them  light  and 
heat,  and  all  colors,  and  vitality,  and  find  them  flooding  the  air  of 
every  planet  as  easily  as  they  visit  each,  and  present  to  every  eye, 


THE   CONNECTICUT   VALLEY.  395 

kindling  all  nature  for  it,  with  no  more  labor  than  in  doing  it  for  one ; 
inflicting  pairl  upon  the  diseased  retina  by  the  same  beneficence  that 
blesses  the  well  one,  and  illumining  a  different  world  for  each  mind  it 
visits,  according  to  its  culture  or  its  purity, — have  we  not  found  a  finer 
and  vaster  astronomy  by  our  analysis  and  research  ? — found  a  pic- 
tured statement  of  the  interblending  of  Infinite  grace  and  truth  in 
the  rays  that  stream  continually  in  upon  the  soul's  world,  and  of  the 
way  they  bless  us  and  color  us  according  to  our  faculty  of  reception, 
and  how  they  visit  and  rule  every  heart  and  will  as  easily  as  they 
fall  upon  one  ? 

To  win  the  secret  of  a  weed's  plain  heart, 
Reveals  the  clue  to  spiritual  things. 

And  all  science  at  last  "  blossoms  into  morals."  Can  we  suppose 
that  a  risen  saint,  or  an  angel,  in  looking  upon  the  universe,  sees  only 
a  countless  number  of  enclosures  to  feed  mortal  creatures  until  they 
die  ?  Is  not  every  fact  alive  to  such  a  spectator  ?  Is  it  not  a  reve- 
lation of  the  truth  and  perfectness  of  God  which  he  beholds  glowing 
in  the  electric  pulses,  the  force  of  gravity,  the  waves  of  light,  the 
tides  of  Ufe  ? — -just  as  the  deepest  seer  turned  the  scattered  seed  of 
spring  and  their  various  fortunes  into  a  chapter  of  the  world's  gospel, 
translated  the  truth  of  a  minute  providence  from  the  lily's  leaf,  and 
interpreted  impartial  goodness  as  the  esoteric  meaning  of  the  broad 
bursts  of  sunshine  and  the  uninquiring  bounty  of  the  rain  ?  Plainly 
to  such  an  eye,  this  globe,  Avith  all  its  ranks  and  wrappings  of  life, 
from  the  central  fire  up  through  its  rocky  bandages  to  its  vesture  of 
air  and  light,  must  be  not  so  much  a  physical  ball  in  space,  as  a 
translucent  gospel,  in  which  the  laws  of  duty,  purity,  charity,  and 
worship  are  stated  in  symbol. 

We  become  truly  acquainted  with  a  mountain,  therefore,  when  it 
stands  to  us  as  an  exponent  and  buttress  of  principles  of  the  spiritual 
order, — when  in  a  mood  of  cheerful  reverence  we  catch  the  truth  for 
the  soul  which  lies  behind,  and  plays  through  its  truth  for  the  mind 
smd  its  apparel  of  beauty.  We  must  be  able  to  respond  to  the  mean 
lug  of  Wordsworth's  passage, — 


,^^96  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

Tlie  immeiisurable  height 
or  woods  decaying,  never  to  be  decayed, 
The  stationary  blasts  of  waterfalls, 
And  in  the  narrow  rent  at  every  turn, 
Winds  thwarting  winds,  bewildered  and  forlorn, 
The  torrents  shooting  from  the  clear  blue  sky, 
The  rocks  that  muttered  close  upon  our  ears, 
lUack  drizzling  crags  that  spake  by  the  wayside 
As  if  a  voice  were  in  them,  the  sick  sight 
And  giddy  prospect  of  the  raving  stream. 
The  unfettered  clouds  and  region  of  the  Heavens, 
Tumult  and  peace,  the  darkness  and  the  light — 
Were  all  like  workings  of  one  mind,  the  features 
Of  the  same  face,  blossoms  upon  one  tree, 
Characters  of  the  great  Apocalypse, 
The  types  and  symbols  of  Eternity, 
Of  first,  and  last,  and  midst,  and  without  end. 

Fancy  plays  with  outside  resemblances  ;  but  insight  perceives  the 
central  analogies,  following  the  lines  of  correspondence  that  tether 
facts  in  the  physical  region  to  truths  in  the  moral  plane  above.  One 
who  has  followed  a  mountain  rivulet  to  its  source,  and  who  has 
also  studied  from  a  distance  the  shadowy  furrow  it  h^s  ploughed, 
as  the  witness  of  its  persistent  toil  through  centuries,  cannot  help 
feeling,  after  reading  this  passage  of  Mr.  Ruskin,  that  its  history  is  a 
lesson  engraved,  like  the  earUest  commandments,  on  tables  of  stone. 
"  A  stream  receives  a  slight  impulse  this  way  or  that,  at  the  top  of 
the  hill,  but  increases  in  energy  and  sweep  as  it  descends,  gathering 
into  itself  others  from  its  sides,  and  uniting  their  power  with  its  own. 
A  single  knot  of  quartz  occurring  in  a  flake  of  slate  at  the  crest  of 
the  ridge  may  alter  the  entire  destinies  of  the  mountain  form.  It 
may  turn  the  little  rivulet  of  water  to  the  right  or  left,  and  that  little 
turn  will  be  to  the  future  direction  of  the  gathering  stream  what  the 
touch  of  a  finger  on  the  barrel  of  a  rifle  would  be  to  the  direction  of 
the  bullet.  Each  succeeding  year  increases  the  importance  of  every 
determined  form,  and  arranges  in  masses  yet  more  and  more  harmo- 
nious, the  promontories  shaped  by  the  sweeping  of  the  eternal  water- 
falls. 

"  The  importance  of  the  results  thus  obtained,  by  the  slightest 


THE    CONNECTICUT   VALLEY.  397 

change  of  direction  in  the  infant  streamlets,  furnishcj  an  interesting 
type  of  the  formation  of  human  characters  by  habit.  Every  one  of 
those  notable  ravines  and  crags  is  the  expression,  not  of  any  sudden 
violence  done  to  the  mountain,  but  of  its  little  habits,  persisted  in 
continually.  It  was  created  with  one  ruhng  instinct ;  but  its  destiny 
depended,  nevertheless,  for  effective  result,  on  the  direction  of  the 
small  and  all  but  invisible  tricklings  of  water,  in  which  the  first  shower 
of  rain  found  its  way  down  its  sides.  The  feeblest,  most  insensible 
oozhags  of  the  drops  of  dew  among  its  dust  were,  in  reality,  arbiters  of 
its  eternal  form  ;  commissioned  with  a  touch  more  tender  than  that 
of  a  child's  finger, — as  silent  and  slight  as  the  fall  of  a  half-checked 
tear  on  a  maiden's  cheek, — to  fix  forever  the  forms  of  peak  and 
precipice,  and  hew  those  leagues  of  lifted  granite  into  the  shapes  that 
were  to  divide  the  earth  and  its  kingdoms.  Once  the  little  stone 
evaded, — once  the  dim  furrow  traced, — and  the  peak  was  forever  in- 
vested with  its  majesty,  the  ravine  forever  doomed  to  its  degradation. 
Thenceforward,  day  by  day,  the  subtle  habit  gained  in  poAver ;  the 
evaded  stone  was  left  with  wider  basement ;  the  chosen  furrow  deep- 
ened with  swifter-sliding  wave  ;  repentance  and  arrest  were  alike 
impossible,  and  hour  after  hour  saw  written,  in  larger  and  rockier 
characters  upon  the  sky,  the  history  of  the  choice  that  had  been 
directed  by  a  drop  of  rain,  and  of  the  balance  that  had  been  turned 
by  a  grain  of  sand." 

Or  turn  to  this  passage  from  Wordsworth,  and  see  how  imaginative 
perception  reverses  the  commonplace  of  fancy. 

Rightly  is  it  said 
That  Man  descends  into  the   Vale  of  j'ears; 
Yet  have  I  thought  that  we  might  also  speak, 
And  not  presumptuously,  I  trust,  of  Age, 
As  of  a  final  Eminence ;  though  bare 
In  aspect  and  forbidding,  yet  a  point 
On  which  'tis  not  impossible  to  sit 
In  awful  sovereignty;  a  place  of  power, 
A  throne,  that  may  be  likened  unto  his, 
Who,  in  some  placid  day  of  summer,  looks 
Down  from  a  mountain-top, — say  one  of  those 
High  peaks  that  bound  the  vale  where  now  we  art. 
53 


398  THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

Fa'r.t    and  diminished  to  the  gazing  eye, 
Korest  and  field,  and  hill  and  dale  appear, 
With  all  the  shapes  upon  their  surface  spread- 
But,  while  the  gross  and  visible  frame  of  things 
Relinquishes  its  hold  upon  the  sense, 
Yea  almost  on  the  Mind  herself,  and  seems 
All  unsubstantialized, — how  loud  the  voice 
Of  waters,  with  invigorated  peal 
From  the  full  river  in  the  vale  below, 

Ascendmg! 

And  may  it  not  be  hoped,  that,  placed  by  age 
In  like  removal,  tranquil  though  severe, 
We  are  not  so  removed  for  utter  loss; 
But  for  some  favor,  suited  to  our  need? 
What  more  than  that  the  severing  should  confer 
Fresh  power  to  commune  with  the  invisible  world. 
And  hear  the  mighty  stream  of  tendency 
Uttering,  for  elevation  of  our  thought, 
A  clear  sonorous  voice,  inaudible 
To  the  vast  multitude;  whose  doom  it  is 
To  run  the  giddy  round  of  vain  delight 
Or  fret  and  labor  on  the  Plain  below. 

But  it  is  when  we  turn  from  the  aspects  to  the  science  of  the 
mountains  that  the  noblest  sjmboUsm  appears.  In  them,  as  through- 
out the  creation,  we  read  the  lesson  of  unity  through  fraternity.  Per- 
fect order  is  wrought  out  of  interwoven  service.  Nothing  lives  iso- 
lated. All  things  exist  by  the  charity  of  God,  and  the  material 
world  seems  to  respond  to  this  fact  by  the  mutual  help  ordained 
among  its  members.  Every  organization,  while  it  is  taking  in  what 
is  necessary  for  its  own  subsistence  and  increase,  must  be  exhaling 
or  storing  up  some  elements  that  are  essential  to  other  organizations, 
— perhaps  belonging  to  other  spheres  of  life.  The  sea  gives  to  the 
meadow  and  is  repaid  from  the  hills.  The  forests  breathe  out  vital- 
ity, and  incorporate  the  poison,  beneficent  for  them,  which  men  and 
animals  exhale.  The  equator  "sends  greeting"  to  the  Arctic  zone 
by  the  warm  gulf-stream  that  flows  near  the  polar  coasts  to  soften 
their  winds  ;  and  the  poles  return  a  colder  tide,  and  add  an  embassy 
of  icebergs  too,  to  temper  the  fierce  tropic  heats.  The  earth  holds 
the  moon  in  her  orbit,  and  the  moon  makes  the  sea  on  our  plane! 
throb  with  life 


THE   CONNECTICUT   VALLEY.  399 

One  of  the  sweetest  of  the  Psahns  is  an  ode  on  the  beauty  of 
:lwelUng  together  in  unity.  And  one  of  the  illustrations  in  it,  read 
in  the  version  of  Herder,  makes  the  mountains  a  more  charming  sym- 
bol of  it  than  our  version  suggests. 

Behold  how  lovely  and  how  pleasant, 
When  brothers  dwell  in  peace  together! 
Thus  breatlied  its  fragrance  round 
The  precious  ointment  on  the  head 
That  ran  adown  the  beard  of  Aaron, 
And  reached  the  border  of  his  garment. 
So  descends  the  dew  of  Hermon, 
Refreshing  Zion's  mountains. 
For  there  Jehovah  gave  command, 
That  blessings  dwell  forevermore. 

According  to  this  rendering,  it  is  the  vapors  first  settling  upon  the 
snowy  and  distant  Hermon,  from  which  rains  are  borne  to  the  lower 
and  parched  hills  of  Zion,  that  bear  testimony  to  the  moral  beauty  of 
kindliness  and  interblended  service  among  men.  The  law  of  frater- 
nity is  the  moral  aspect  of  nature, — ethics  and  political  economy  hid- 
den in  the  constant  order.  Can  we  rightfully  speak  of  society  yet  as 
superior  to  nature,  when  it  is  a  fact  that  there  would  be  no  destitu- 
tion to  breed  despair,  no  cold  nooks  where  human  hearts  sicken  and 
shrivel,  away  from  all  sympathy,  no  starvation  in  Christian  lands,  if 
the  laws  of  society  were  up  to  the  level  of  the  laws  that  rule  any 
square  mile  of  rural  landscape  ? 

And  let  us  see  how  aspiration  is  commended  by  the  emphasis  of 
nature.  All  bounty  comes  from  the  sky  through  heat  and  light, 
through  wind  and  rain,  and  the  life  of  the  globe  pays  back  something 
to  the  sky.  How  often  we  are  permitted  to  see  the  mountains  after 
a  shower,  when  their  wooded  hollows  are  mighty  censers  pouring  up- 
wards vapory  incense, — tithes  of  the  rain  that  had  drenched  their 
leaves  and  soaked  their  mosses  !  It  goes  up  fragrant  with  the  in- 
most quality  of  the  shrubs  and  vines,  the  pine  forests,  and  the  soil 
which   the  moisture  had  refreshed.      Is  not  this  true  worship,   the 


iOO  THE    WHITE    HILLS. 

return  to  heaven  of  the  same  grace  that  was  given  thence,  with  the 
central  character  of  the  individual  expressed  in  it  ? — -just  as  the 
mountains  send  back  in  aromatic  thanks  the  soul  of  the  rain,  which 
came  to  it  tasteless  and  scentless  from  the  sky. 

And  thus  every  stream  and  river,  as  it  flows  to  the  ocean,  yields  an 
upward  tribute,  at  the  touch  of  the  sun.  The  sea  offers  a  great  ob- 
lation. The  very  rocks  reflect  some  of  the  heat  that  falls  upon  them, 
and  aspire,  through  the  lichens  and  mosses  which  they  nourish,  to 
direct  communion  with  the  air.  An  irreverent  mind  stands  out  of 
chord  with  nature  on  any  level  of  the 

gi-eat  world's  altar  stairs, 
That  slope  through  darkness  up  to  God. 

And  how  can  one  that  lives  among  the  mountains,  with  an  insight 
that  penetrates  their  purposes  and  service,  help  receiving  a  lesson  of 
fortitude  into  his  heart  ?  How  can  they  but  strengthen  the  heroic 
sentiments,  so  plainly  do  they  tell  of  unselfish  toil  and  suffering  ?  A 
great  deal  has  been  written  about  the  difference,  in  the  effect  on  the 
poetic  sensibilities,  between  living  near  the  mountains  and  by  the  sea. 
And  no  more  brilliant  contrast  of  this  kind  has  been  drawn  than  by 
the  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table  in  the  following  passage  : — 

"  I  have  lived  by  the  sea-shore,  and  by  the  mountains. — No,  I  am 
not  going  to  say  which  is  best.  The  one  where  your  place  is  is  the 
best  for  you.  But  this  difference  there  is  :  you  can  domesticate 
mountains,  but  the  sea  is  ferce  nafurce.  You  may  have  a  hut,  or 
know  the  owner  of  one,  on  the  mountain-side  ;  you  see  a  light  half- 
way up  its  ascent  in  the  evening,  and  you  know  there  is  a  home,  and 
you  might  share  it.  You  have  noted  certain  trees,  perhaps  ;  you 
know  the  particular  zone  where  the  hemlocks  look  so  black  in  Octo- 
ber, Avhen  the  maples  and  beeches  have  faded.  All  its  reUefs  and 
intaglios  have  electrotypcd  themselves  in  the  medallions  that  hang 
round  the  walls  of  your  memory's  chamber.  The  sea  remembers 
nothing  ;  it  is  feline.  It  licks  your  feet, — its  huge  flanks  purr  very 
oleasantly  for  you  ;  but  it  will  crack  your  bones  and  eat  you,  for  all 


THE   CONNECTICUT  VALLEY.  401 

that,  and  wipe  tiie  crimson  foam  from  its  jaws  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. The  mountains  give  their  lost  children  berries  and  water ; 
the  sea  mocks  their  thirst  and  lets  them  die.  The  mountains  have  a 
grand,  stupid,  lovable  tranquillity  ;  the  sea  has  a  fascinating,  treach- 
erous intelligence.  The  mountains  He  about  like  huge  ruminants, 
their  broad  backs  awful  to  look  upon,  but  safe  to  handle  ;  the  sea 
smooths  its  silver  scales  until  you  cannot  see  their  joints, — but  their 
shining  is  that  of  a  snake's  belly,  after  all.  In  deeper  suggestiveness 
I  find  as  great  a  difference.  The  mountains  dwarf  mankind,  and 
foreshorten  the  procession  of  its  long  generations.  The  sea  drowns 
out  humanity  and  time  ;  it  has  no  sympathy  with  either,  for  it  be- 
longs to  eternity,  and  of  that  it  sings  its  monotonous  song  forever 
and  ever." 

The  hills  and  the  sea  are  not  only  materially  incommensurable  as 
to  sublimity,  but  they  represent  different  sentiments,  and  appeal  to 
different  sympathies.  A  sick  heart,  or  a  weak  nature,  that  needs 
morally  more  iron  in  its  blood,  must  find  the  mountains  the  more 
medicinal  companions.  They  are  so  patient !  They  speak  to  us 
from  the  repose  of  self-centred  character,  the  ocean  from  the  heav- 
ings  of  unappeasable  passion.  All  the  hard  conditions  of  our  human 
lot  are  typified  by  the  great  hills.  What  a  tremendous  experience 
they  undergo  !  Yet  they  do  not  babble,  or  sob,  or  moan,  or  roar 
like  the  discontented,  melancholy  sea.  The  powers  of  the  air  bring 
all  their  batteries  against  them,  lightnings  blast  and  rive  them,  tor- 
rents plough  them  to  the  bone,  sunshine  scorches  them,  frosts  gnaw 
away  their  substance  and  tumble  it  down  to  the  valleys, — and  they 
utter  no  cry.  After  thunder  and  hail  and  whirlwind,  their  peaks 
look  out  from  above  the  baffled  clouds,  and  take  the  sunshine  with 
no  bravado,  as  though  it  is  their  mission  "  to  suffer  and  be  strong." 
Dumb  patience  in  trouble,  persistent  fortitude  against  obstacles,  the 
triumphant  power  of  a  character  rooted  in  truth  over  the  hardships 
of  life  and  the  wrath  of  the  world, — such  a  lesson  and  the  tone  of 
spirit  that  can  exhibit  it,  they  try  to  infuse  into  the  soul  that  lives  in 
their  society.     By  this  effluence,  even  though  the  recipient  is  un- 


402  THE    WHITE   HILLS. 

conscious  of  the  cause,  they  stimulate  and  soothe  a  flagging  will 
or  fainting  heart,  as  the  airs  they  purify  search  and  reanimate  an 
unstrung  frame. 

Swedenborg  tells  us  that,  in  the  verbal  Scripture,  mountains  corre- 
spond to  the  truths  of  the  highest  plane.  Certainly  in  the  physical 
economy  they  are  the  eloquent  types  of  charity.  How  impressive 
and  cordial  is  the  open  fact  that  nothing  in  nature  lives  for  itself, — 
finds  its  end  in  itself!  Nothing  at  least  that  is  normal  and  healthful 
does.  A  slimy  pond  and  a  fen  are  typical  of  selfishness,  not  the  river 
and  the  glebe.  The  sun  is  a  mighty  institution,  of  which  heat,  light, 
and  gravitation  are  the  ever-streaming  discount.  The  sea  gives  the 
rain,  as  the  interest  of  its  vast  fund,  for  the  world's  good.  The 
beauty  which  gratifies  and  soothes  humanity  is  the  perpetual  dividend 
of  the  joint-stock  of  the  universe.  And  charity,  which  is  the  general 
lesson  of  nature,  is  preached  by  the  sovereign  hills  with  the  emphasis 
of  heroic  and  vicarious  suffering. 

Near  one  of  the  most  inspiring  views  of  the  "\Yliite  Mountain  range 
we  have  often  seen  a  cottage,  in  which -a  family  live  with  scarcely  any 
furniture,  and  barely  supplied  even  with  summer  necessities.  The 
walls  were  not  tight  enough  to  keep  out  the  rain  and  the  winter 
snows.  The  inmates,  when  we  first  visited  them,  were  too  poor  to 
own  a  cow.  The  father  had  been  continually  unfortunate,  though 
industrious  and  strictly  temperate.  The  mother  was  in  feeble  health, 
and  was  plainly  suffering  from  too  low  and  spare  a  diet.  The  tones 
of  her  voice  were  saturated  with  misfortune.  In  winter,  the  man  was 
afflicted  with  rheumatism  so  that  he  could  not  steadily  earn  his  fifty 
cents  a  day  by  lumbering,  when  the  snows  were  propitious  ;  in  the 
summer,  he  tried  to  wring  enough  to  keep  off  starvation  out  of 
Bome  cold,  thin  land.  Although  this  is,  no  doubt,  an  exceptional  case 
in  that  district,  should  it  be  a  possible  case  in  any  district  of  this 
continent  ?  Can  we  believe  that  there  was  an  honest  dollar  of  all  the 
money  hoarded  in  that  county,  so  long  as  there  was  a  man  in  it  wil- 
ling to  work  and  unable  to  get  a  substantial  living  for  his  family  by 


THE   CONNECTICUT   VALLEY.  408 

his  Avork, — living  on  the  borders  of  stately  forests,  and  suffering  from 
cold  in  winter, — poorly  clothed,  while  every  bear  on  the  neighboring 
heights  was  wrapped  warm  by  the  laws  of  nature, — impoverished 
in  blood,  when  every  weed  that  could  fasten  itself  into  a  cranny 
of  the  rocks,  where  an  inch  of  soil  had  lodged,  had  its  portion  of 
food  supplied  forthwith  by  an  assessment  on  ocean,  sun,  and  air  ? 

Is  it  the  written  precept  of  the  written  Testament  alone  that  in- 
trudes this  question  ?  Mount  Washington  soared  over  that  hut,  and 
what  did  he  say  ?  What  does  he  do  with  the  wealth  lavished  upon 
him  ?  He  is  an  almoner  of  divine  gifts.  He  condenses  moisture 
interfused  in  winds  that  blow  from  polar  seas,  and  stores  it  up  for 
fountains,  or  pours  it  in  rills.  He  invigorates  the  breezes  that  sweep 
pestilence  from  our  cities.  He  breasts  the  winter  tempests,  and 
holds  the  snows  Avith  which  they  would  smother  him,  and  gives  them 
slowly  in  the  spring,  letting  the  torrents  tear  his  own  substance  also, 
to  enrich  the  intervales  of  the  Saco  and  Connecticut,  and  to  keep  the 
mills  busy  that  help  to  clothe  the  world.  A  Greek  sculptor  had  a 
wild  dream  of  carving  Mount  Aihos  into  a  statue  of  Alexander, — its 
left  arm  to  enclose  a  city  of  ten  thousand,  its  right  hand  grasping  an 
urn  from  which  a  river  should  pour  perpetually  into  the  sea.  It  is  a 
bounty  no  less  imperial  that  every  great  mountain  represents.  Nay, 
giving  its  own  substance,  too,  in  its  disbursement  of  what  is  poured 
upon  it,  not  withholding  service  though  the  condition  be  pain,  it  is 
tinged  and  glorified  with  light  from  the  cross.  In  respect  of  the 
symbolic  meaning  of  the  hills,  far  more  than  in  relation  to  the  depths 
they  open  to  scientific  and  artistic  scrutiny,  we  may  quote  the  weighty 
words  :  "  The  truth  of  Nature  is  a  part  of  the  truth  of  God  :  to  him 
who  does  not  search  it  out,  darkness  ;  to  him  who  does,  infinity." 


C^/-    -V^-^^^    /'^t^yi    ^    %Z/^^i:'/»^^   ,yT)S^6^^Cti: 


AA    000  858  692    7 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  uf  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 

JUN  3  0  1977, 

,\m  oBHhCo 


CI  39 


UCSD  Libr. 


vS   ■•  ■■ 


^^~-^"-  i-\ 


^\V^>\s^\^v^      ^^^ 


